





s 


5 ; .. 7 , .'.^ • . ..t' ,* / ■ 


' •«i ^ . 7 ■ 

^v#:,,/.r '■ ■■ 



• ■ -V * 





*■'^1 '** 
ij T' • • ' •' ' 

- •♦K ^ •u *■'/•' ■ '*' ■ • 

‘'^'^1,. Vv>' / '.I ".■•i’' '■' 

£* ^* . ‘■•^■'* ■ ’• *' i'- •'.- : "‘ J 



f/ 










'^1 ’• ' » > < 
t^y ^7 . ' ■? ^' 

I!''!'?-’./'" . 


i‘/: ■■■,'•. •*;•■ 


i 


^szr 


«|rfj; 

. '"y* /A 

/V- .\M 


f t* 


v.;rri.«^;V 

. wT ' , • 


■' r a' 



• n 


'■f 



> 




.' ' Ail 


*• i 


.1 ''iV'- 



'■ IVOV; 




I . 


/• i< 


V A ■■ ■ 

- 'll 

^ **• ' ‘ • • . 








'j '.- :/. ' 


• t 



' • * 

Si ^ ‘ , > > 


\> 



,.i 


I tj a ^ T 


) 


V; 


^ ‘ [rtf I 



^ • 

• I 

.V 


, ' . •?«' '^'M ^rvra 

• " '* ' '-•■'>» ‘' w * 

r.y.i ;>’■ • i ■ '■,,. V-'-':7T^ W 




* 1 




VX 




»• w* 












) 




No» 372 . 


IS Coixts. 


TRI -weekly TuBLIC.ATlor/ QT? rk? c»}f\^enS- &^jrANj>y\Ty) LiTEf^ATUP^e 


'f To ^y:N>• W • L OV£ 1, L ' CoT^^^KUY^ 

, - 14 « 6.16 V]^EY 3 TREET 


Vol. 7, No. 372. April ‘.'6, 1884.; Ai^nnf Subscription, f.'Jb.tiO 




HILL 


AND 


VALLEY 


BY 


HARRIET MARTINEAU 

AUTHOR OF 

“HISTORY OF ENGLAND,” “TALES OF 
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION,” 6tc. 


Entered at the Post CiRcr, N. Y., n« Bfcond-clasa matter. 
Copyright, 18b3, by John W. LovkllCo. 


- aIttA jikiA .ilcj Y:ics::afcY ytAJic^ 

■"y*- 


',1 neat CLOTH BINDING for this volume can be obtained from any bookseller or newsdealer, price 15cts, 




LOVELL’S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 


1. Hyperion 20 

2. Outre-Mer 20 

3. The Happy Boy 10 

4. Arne 10 

5. F rankenstein 10 

6. TheLasto{theMohicans.2o 

7. Clytie 20 

8. The Moonstone, Part 1. 10 

9. The Moonstone, Part II. 10 

10. Oliver Twist 20 

11. The Coming Race 10 

12. Leila 10 

13. The Three Spaniards. . .20 

14. The Tricks of the Greeks.20 

15. L’Abbe Constantin 20 

16. Freckles 20 

17. The Dark Colleen . .20 

18. They were Married .... 10 

19. Seekers After God 20 

20. The Spanish Nun 10 

21. Green Mountain Boys. .20 

22. Fleurette 20 

23. Second Thoughts 20 

24. The New Magdalen .... 20 

25. Divorce 20 

26. Life of Washington 20 

27. Social Etiquette 15 

28. Single Heart, Double 

Face 10 

29. Irene; or. The Lonely 

Manor 20 

30. Vice Versa 20 

31. Ernest Maltravers 20 

32. The Haunted House... 10 

33. John Halifax 20 

34. 800 Leagues on the 

Amazon 10 

35. The Crj'ptogram 10 

36. Life of Marion 20 

37. Paul and Virginia 10 

38. A Tale of Two Cities. . . .20 

39. The Hermits 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule, 

etc 10 

41. A Marriage in High Lifezo 

42. Robin 20 

43. Two on a Tower 20 

44. Rasselas 10 

15. Alice ; a sequel to Er- 
nest Maltravers 20 

46. Duke of Kandos 20 

47. Baron Munchai.sen 

48. A Princess of Thule 20 

49. The Secret Despatch.. . .20 

50. Early Days of Christian- 
ity, 2 Parts, each 20 

51. Vicar of Wakefield. .. . . . 10 

52. Progress and Poverty ... 20 

53. The Spy 20 

54. East Lynne 20 

55. A Strange Story 20 

56. Adam Bede, Part 1 15 

Adam Bede, Part II 15 

57. The Golden Shaft 20 

58. Portia 

59. Last Days of Pompeii. . . 20 

60. The Two Duchesses 20 

61. TomBrown’sSchoolDays.20 

62. Wooing O’t, 2 Pts. ea^.15 

63. The Vendetta 20 

64. Hypatia, Payt 1 15 

Hypatia, Part II 15 


65. Selma ••••15 

66. Margaret and her Brides- 
maids 20 

,67. Horse Shoe Robinson, 

2 Parts, each 15 

68. Gulliver’s Travels 20 

69. Amos Barton 10 

70. The Berber 20 

71. Silas Mamer 10 

72. Queen of the County . . .20 

73. Life of Cromwell. 15 

74. Jane Eyre 20 

75. Child’sHist’ry of Engl’d. 20 

76. Molly Bawn 20 

77. Pillone 15 

78. Phyllis 20 

79. Romola, Part 1 15 

Romola, Part II 15 

80. Science in ShortChapters. 20 

81. Zanoni 20 

82. A Daughter of Heth .... 20 

83. Right and Wrong Uses of 

the Bible 20 

84. NightandMoming,Pt.Li5 
NightandMoming,Pt.II 15 

85. Shandon Bells 20 

86. Monica 10 

87. Heart and Science 20 

88. The Golden Calf 20 

89. The Dean’s Daughter. . . 20 

90. Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

91. Pickwick Papers, Part 1 . 20 
Pickwick Papers,Part 11. 20 

92. Airy, Fairy Lilian 20 

93. Macleod of Dare 20 

94. Tempest Tossed, Part I.ao 
Tempest Tossed^ P’t I I.ao 

95. Letters from High Lat- 

itudes 20 

96. Gideon Fleyce 20 

97. India and Ceylon 20 

98. The Gypsy Queen 20 

99. The Admiral’s Ward. .. .20 

100. Nimport, 2 Parts, each.. 15 
lor. Harry Holbrooke 20 

102. Tritons, 2 Parts, each ..15 

103. Let Nothing You Dismay, to 

104. LadyAudley’s Secret... 20 

105. Woman’s Place To-day. 20 

106. Dunallan, 2 parts, each. 15 

107. Housekeeping and Home 

making 15 

108. No New Thing 20 

109. TheSpoopendykePapers.20 

no. False Hopes 15 

111. Labor and Capital 20 

1 12. Wanda, 2 parts, each ... 15 

113. More Wordsabout Bible. 20 
X14. Monsieur Lecocq, P’t. 1.20 

Monsieur Lecocq, Pt. 1 1 . 20 

1 1 5. An Outline of Irish Hist. 10 

1 16. The Lerouge Case 20 

1 1 7. Paul Clifford 20 

J18. A New Lease of Life.. .20 
iig. Bourbon Lilies 20 

120. Other People’s Money.. 20 

121. Lady of Lyons 10 

122. Ameline de Bourg 15 

123. A Sea Queen 20 

124. The Ladies Lindores. . .20 

125. Haunted Hearts 10 

126. Loys, Lord Beresford.. .20 


127. 

128. 

129. 
130 

131- 

132. 

i33< 

134- 

‘35' 

136. 

137* 

138. 

139- 

140. 

141. 

142. 

143- 

144. 

145- 

146. 

147- 

148. 

149. 

150. 

»Si- 

152. 

153. 

*53- 

154. 

»55- 

156. 

157- 

158. 

»S9* 

160. 

161. 

162. 

163. 

164. 

165. 

166. 

167. 

168. 

169. 

170. 

171. 

172. 

173* 

174. 

*75* 

176. 

177 - 

178. 

179. 

180. 

181. 

182. 

183. 

184. 

185. 


, Under Two Flags, Pt I. 20 
Under Two Flags, Pt II. 20 

, Money ;•••; 

, In Peril of His Life 20 

. India; What can it teach 

ns ? 20 

, Jets and Flashes 20 

Mo ishine and Margue- 
rite' 10 

, Mr carborough’s 
Fa. lily, 2 Parts, each . . 15 

Arden 15 

, Tower of Percemont. . . .20 

. Yolande 20 

Cruel London 20 

, The Gilded Clique 20 

, Pike County Folks 20 

, Cricket on the Hearth . . 10 

Henry Esmond 20 

Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

Denis Duval 10 

01dCuriosityShop,P’t 1.15 
OldCuriosityShopjP’rt 11.15 

Ivanhoe, Part 1 15 

Ivanhoe, Part II 15 

White Wings 20 

The Sketch Book 20 

Catherine 10 

Janet’s Repentance 

Barnaby Rudge, Part I.. 15 
Barnaby Rudge, Part 11. 15 

Felix Holt 20 

Richelieu 10 

Sunrise, Part 1 15 

Sunrise, Part II 15 

Tour of the World in 80 

Days 20 

Mystery of Orcival 20 

Level, the Widower. . . . 10 
Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

DavidCopperfield,Part L20 
DavidCopperlield,P’rt II .20 
Charlotte Temple. . - ..10 

Rienzi, 2 Parts, each ... 15 
Promise of Marriage .... 10 

Faith and Unfaith 20 

The Happy Man 

Barry Lyndon 20 

Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

20,000 Leagues U nder the 

Sea^ .20 

Anti-Slavery Days 20 

Beauty’s Daughters 20 

Beyond the Sunrise 20 

Hard Times 20 

Tom Cringle’s Log .... 20 

Vanity Fair 30 

Underground Russia 20 

Middlemarch,2 Pts.each.20 

Sir Tom 

Pelham 20 

The Story of Ida 10 

Madcap Violet 20 

The Little Pilgrim 10 

Kilmeny 20 

Whist, or Bumblepuppy i. ic 
That Beautiful Wretch.. 20 

Her Mother’s Sin 20 

Green Pastures, etc 20 

Mysterious Island, Pt.,1.15 



All women know that it is beauty, rather than genius, which all generations 
of men have worshipped in the sex. Can it be wondered at, then, that so much 
of worn in’s time and attention should be directed to the means of developing 
and preserving that beauty! The most important adjunct to beauty is a clear, 
smooth, soft and beautiful skin. With this essential a lady appears handsome, 
even if her features are not perfect. 

Ladies affliett d with Tan, Freckles, Rough or Discolored Skin, should lose 
no time in procuring and applying 

liAIRD’S BLOOM OF YOUTH. 


It will immediately obliterate all such imperfections, and is entirely harm- 
less. It has been chemically analyzed by the Board of Health of New York City, 
and pronounced entirely free from any material injurioiis to the health or skin. 

Over two million ladies have used this delightful toilet preparation, and in 
every instance it has given entire satisfaction. Ladies, if you desire to be beauti- 
ful, give LAIRD’S BLOOM OP YOUTH a trial, and be convinced of its won- 
derful efficacy. Sold by Fancy Goods Dealers and Druggists everywhere. 

• Price, TSc. per Bottle. Depot, 83 Jolin St., No Y. 


FAIR FACES 

And fair, in the literal and most pleasing sense, are 
those kept fresh and pure by the use of 

BUCHAN'S CARBOLIC TOILET SOAP 

This article, which for the past fifteen years has 
had the commendation of every lady who uses it, is 
made from the best oils, combined with just the 
proper amount of glycerine and chemically pure 
carbolic .scid, and is the realization of a PEK- 
FECT SOAP. 



It will positively keep the skin fresh, clear, and white; removing tan, 
freckles and discolorations from the skin; healing all eruptions; prevent chap- 
ping or roughness ; allay irritation and soreness ; and overcome all unpleasant 
effects from perspiration. 

Is pleasantly perfumed ; and neither when using or afterwards is the slight* 
cst odor of the acid perceptible. 


BUCHAN’S CARBOLIC DENTAL SOAP 

CuEATTS and preserves the teeth; cools and refreshes the mouth; sweetens the 
breath, aud is in every way an unrivalled dental preparation. 

BUriIAN9S CARBOLIC MEDICINAL SOA^ cures all 
Eruptions and Skin Diseases. 







A Manual of Hygieno for Women and the Household. 

Illustrated. By Mrs. E. G. Cook, M. D. 

12 mo, extra cloth, - $1.50 

This new work has already received strong words of 
commendation from competent judges who have had the 
opportunity of examining it, as the following will show; 


Commonwealth^ Boston, Mass. 

“ This is a sensible book, written in a clear, plain, yet delicate style; a book 
which ought to be in the hands of all women and girls old enough to need its 
counsel. It treats of topics on which hinge much of the world’s woe, because 
of silent sullefiug, palecheeks andbroken conetitutions.” 


Enquirer, Philadelphia, Penn. 

“ It is a plain, sensible talk on subjects usually considered too delicate to be 
either spoken or written about, but here put in a way that cannot offend any- 
body. It is a book that every mother should read and then put in her daughter 's 
hand.” 


N. Y. Times. 

“A book of sound advice to women.” 


Christian Intelligencer, N. Y. City. 

“Written by a women who speaks from the stand-point of an eaucated ex- 
perience. Its style is simple, chaste and earnest, and it treats of subjects 
which it vastly concerns wives, mothers and daughters to know.” 


National Tribune, 'Washington, B. C. 

“The information which this book affords is precisely what every woman 
ought to have.” 

Zion's Herald, Boston, Mass. 

“ In clear and plain style, with the modesty and the knowledge which on 
educated woman has of her subject, is presented just what the young head of 
a family ought to know about herself and those who may come under her care. 
It is an admirable book of its kind.” 

New York Star. 


“ The work opens with a chapter on physical culture, which is followed by 
essays on physiology in general. The feeding of children, the rights of chil- 
dren, the question of education, etc., are all discussed, and the work is fully 
illustrated.” 

N. Y. Medical Times. 


“ It treats of the importance of physical culture and hygiene. The chapters 
on ‘ Intemperance and Tobacco’ are especially worthy of note. Such books as 
this manual are to be welcomed as helpers-on in the good cause of uplifting 
and perfecting humanity.” 

Scientific^American, N. Y. 

“The importance of physical culture for women, with especial reference to 
(heir duties in the household and the raising and care of children, are promi- 
nently treated in this book.” 

Indianapolis Journal, Indiana. 

“ Some work of this kind is indispensable and this one seems to be perfectly 
suited to the purpose for which it was prepared.” 

Presbyterian Banner, Pittsburg, Pa. 

“ Prepared by a woman who has herself receivq^ a medical training, it con - 
tains for mothers instruction and warning that should be carefully conkdered.” 


LADIES WANTED to act as Agents, to whom liberal 
terms will be given. Copies sent by mail, post-paid, on 
receipt of price, ^ 1 . 50 . Address 

HYGIENIC PIJ1BI.ISHING CO., 917 Broadway, New York, 
or 432 Van Burem Street, Milwaukee, Wis. 


HILL AND VALLEY; 


OR, 


HANDS AND MACHINERY. 



HARRIET MARTINEAU. 


NEW YORK : 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street. 




4 

• r 


"s •’ •‘‘^w 






. *y 
*• 


>• 




» . ■ 


a ' •« 

\ e • • 


K ^ ^ 

^ • 







« 


t 





COJVTENTS 


CHAP! £R I. 

Every man his whim - - - - 7 

CHAPTER II. 

Busy seed-times make rich harvests - 28 
CHAPTER III. 

The harm of a whim ----- 44 

CHAPTER IV. 

A golden harvest ------- d# 

CHAPTER V. 

Man}’ ways of storing a crop - ’ 94 

CHAPTER VI. 

A stormy season - -- -- --112 
CHAPTER VH. 

Clouds overhead ------ 135 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A tempest - -- -- -- - 164 
CHAPTER IX. 

All quiet again - - - - - 175 



..V 


ll 












A 




r*r.cV> 


-'^S^ J 


' *, 


.Tr^’iCi ■ ,*1 ^i' . 




: ■".■:■■■ '■' V» ' 


mm 



J 




HILL AND THE VALLEY. 


CHAPTER 1. 

EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 

Among the hills, in a wild district of South 
Wales, stood a dwelling, known to few and 
avoided by most of those whose curiosity had 
led them to inquire concerning the inmates. 
This cottage was too humble in its appearance 
to attract frequent notice, and there was so much 
difficulty in reaching it, that no call but that of 
business was likely to bring any stranger to its 
threshold. A narrow path led up the hills to 
the foot of a steep flight of steps, made of rude 
stones, placed not very securely. At the top of 
a slippery bank above these steps was a gate, 


8 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


too high to be easily climbed, and too well teth- 
ered to be quickly opened. When one or the 
other difficulty, however, was overcome, the 
path lay direct to the porch of the cottage, on 
the bench of which lay sometimes a newspaper 
or a tobacco-pipe, and sometimes a ricketty 
work-basket, full of undarned stockings, accord- 
ing as the master or mistress of the cottage had 
been sitting there to enjoy the air. No place 
could be more retired than this porch, for it was 
nearly surrounded by garden and orchard ground,' 
and was screened by a thick hedge of elder or. 
the side where the gate was placed. 

The master of this abode was John Arm- 
strong, a hale man of seventy-nine. Its rnis- 
tress was Margaret Blake, his housekeeper, a 
middle-aged woman, but as old fashioned in her 
habits and appearance as her venerable compan- 
ion. They were both very strange people in 
the eyes of every body who knew them, being 
not only unsociable with strangers, but preserv- 
ing, as it appeared, an almost perpetual silence 
towards each other. They never sat in- the same 
room, except at meal-times. Old Armstrong 
avoided the porch unless Margaret was busy 
within ; and she looked out to see that he was 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


9 


gardening, before she brought her work-basket 
out into the sunshine. It was reported by tiie 
only person who had the opportunity by invita- 
tion of witnessing their domestic habits, that 
Armstrong always read the newspaper at oreak- 
fast, mused at dinner-time, and studied the 
Farmer’s Journal at supper ; so that Margaret 
did not forget her own language was a wonder 
to every body ; especially as it was known that 
she had parted with her parrot because Arm- 
strong had as great a dislike to tame birds as to 
dogs and cats. There was music enough, how- 
ever, to break the silence which Margaret’s own 
voice seldom disturbed. The little orchard was 
full of singing-birds, whose notes were far pleas- 
anter than those of any chattering parrot. Arm- 
strong played the flute too ; and it whiled away 
the time to hear him play airs that she was 
taught to sing when a child on her mother’s 
knee. Then there were other sounds as agree- 
able as music — the clinking of the chain when 
her master was letting down his bucket into the 
well ; and the creaking of the roller on the 
smooth grass, and the whetting of the scythe in 
the early morning. Now and then, too, Marga- 
ret had to go to the next town for groceries and 


/ 


10 ^ EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 

Other things which were wanted, and then it 
was necessary that she should speak and that 
people should speak to her ; and this practice, 
though it came very seldom, was enough to 
prevent her growing dumb. 

She generally went twice a year to the town, 
which was four miles off. By her master’s de- 
sire she kept so large a stock of all necessaries 
by her, that there was no occasion to go oftener. 
He would not allow the name of ‘ necessary ’ to 
whatever would not keep so long as six months. 
As to their food — he had the baking and churn- 
ing, and the rearing and killing of fowls done at 
home, that no baker or market-man need come 
near his dwelling. His garden supplied his 
table, except that he regularly brought home 
a joint of meat after morning service on Sun- 
days, the meat having been left for him at the 
house of an acquaintance on the Saturday. He 
sometimes went out fishing, and thus varied his 
fare quite enough for his own satisfaction ; for 
he used to declare to a friend whom he saw 
occasionally, that he knew not what a prince 
could have better than good milk in the morn- 
ing, potatoes, artichokes, peas and cabbages, 
with sometimes fish, flesh, or fowl, for dinner, 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


11 


and a well seasoned basin of gruel at night. 
He was as easily satisfied as to clothing. The 
same blue coat with its large yellow buttons, the 
same leather breeches, mottled stockings, shoe- 
buckles, and cambric stock, had lasted him for 
many years, for he only wore them on Sundays; 
and it was quite enough for Margaret to buy his 
linen and the materials for his laborer’s frock 
when she purchased her own stuff petticoat in the 
fall of the year, and laid in her stock of winter 
oil. He would not even have more frequent 
intercourse with the shoemaker, though he wore 
many shoes. He sent his worn shoes to town 
twice a year, and new ones were always ready 
to be sent back by the same messenger. 

When people live so retired as Armstrong and 
his housekeeper, it is always supposed that they 
have some reason for dreading intercourse with 
their neighbors. It was believed, in the present 
case, that Armstrong was a miser, and that he 
kept a quantity of gold by him, of which he was 
afraid of any body getting a sight. It was 
prophesied, many a time, that he and Margaret 
would be found some day with their throats cut 
for the sake of this wealth. . This was partly 
reasonable and partly false. Armstrong did 


12 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


keep money by him, and it was therefore likely 
that he would be robbed, if not murdered, living 
in so defenceless a way as his appeared to be. 
But he was no miser. He had been in trade in 
early life, and had lost money through the knav- 
ery of his partner. He immediately took a dis- 
gust to business, turned all he had into hard 
gold, bought this lone cottage and two acres of 
ground, and laid by two hundred guineas in a 
chest which he kept under his bed. Not all the 
reasonings of his friends about the uselessness, 
of cash thus locked up, not all the hints that his 
life was not safe, not all the petitions of his on- 
ly daughter that her husband might be allowed 
the use of the cash at a fair rate of interest, 
could induce him to unlock his chest. He de- 
clared that he would be cozened out of no more 
money ; that he was resolved to leave his child 
two hundred guineas, and would not put it into 
the power even of her husband to lessen the 
sum , and as for thieves, he knew how to fire a 
pistol as well as any man, and could undertake 
to defend himself and Margaret and the cash- 
chest against more thieves than were likely to 
attack him. Of course, this was taken to be 
avarice ; but he was by no means so careful in 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM, 


13 


his expenditure as he might have been ; he al- 
lowed two-thirds of his fruit and vegetables to 
rot rather than sell them or let off any of his 
land ; and what was more, he paid a boy for 
bringing a newspaper every morning as far as 
the foot of the steps, where he went to fetch it 
as soon as the lad had turned his back. No 
miser would have done this. A small yearly in- 
come arose from some commercial concern 
which was charged with an annuity to him. If 
any of this remained after the expense of repairs, 
clothing, &c., were defrayed, he gave it all away 
the next Sunday to the poor whom he met in 
his way to the place of worship, except a few 
shillings which he put into Margaret’s hands to 
answer any sudden occasion. 

One fine summer morning, Armstrong 
went to his arbour at the bottom of the gar- 
den to read the newspaper, preferring the 
smell of the honey-suckles to the heat of the 
poieh where the sun was shining in. He had 
left Margaret busy within doors, as usual at that 
time of day ; and was surprised, when he had 
done reading and went in for his fishing-tackle, 
to find her dressed in her best, with her mob- 
cap and beaver, such as the Welsh women 


14 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


wear, of the shape of a man’s hat. She was 
putting a clean cloth into the basket which hung 
on her arm, and preparing to set out. 

‘ Why, Peg, is this the first of the month ?’ 

‘ What has come to you, John Armstrong, 
not to know that?' said Margaret, looking 
alarmed for her master’s senses. ‘ That with 
the almanac hanging there, and the newspaper 
in your hand, you should not know that it is the 
first of the month !’ 

‘ I’ve mistaken a day, and I am sorry for it, 
for I had set my mind on fishing to day. It is 
too hot for work, and just the day for good luck 
beside the pool yonder, you will have a cooler 
day and more fit for walking to-morrow. Peg. 
Suppose you let me go fishing to-day?’ 

Margaret stared more than ever. 

‘ Did I ever hear such a thing before ?’ 
cried she : ‘ I that have never missed the first 
of the month since I kept your house, John 
Armstrong ! And what will the people in the 
town think? I shall have them up here to see 
whether we are murdered; for they will say nothing 
else would keep me at home on the first of this 
month. And me to have to tell them that it is all 
because you have got a fancy to go a fishing ! 


EVERY Man HIS WHIM. 


15 


A.nd I have never been used to be dressed this 
way for nothing; but it must be as you please, 
John Armstrong.’ 

Margaret stopped to take breath ; for she had 
not made so long a speech since she was in the 
town six months betore. On her master’s mut- 
tering something about losing.such a season for 
a good bite, she made the exertion, however, to 
continue. 

‘ If you must fish to-day, you need not keep 
me at home. You can lock the door and put 
the key in yon corner of the porch ; and* then, 
if I come back first, I shall know where to find 
it. It was my grandmother taught me that way, 
when she went out, and I did not want to be 
left behind ; for I was not fond of being lonesome 
then. Says she, ‘Stay at home as your grand- 
father bids you, like a good girl : but if you 
must go out, be sure you leave the key in tlie 
thatch.’ And so I did ofien, and often, till 
grandfather came home one day and found out 
my trick; and then * 

‘ Ay, Peg; somebody w'ill find out our trick 
too ; and if you come back and find the chest 
gone, what will you say then ? Off with you ! 
but you will have no fish when you come back, 
that’s all.’ 


16 


EVERY MAN IIIS WHIM 


Margaret smiled and shook her head and de- 
parted. 

When she was out of sight, the old man felt 
restless and uncomfortable. He was not accus- 
tomed to be crossed and put out of his way, and 
he always accomplished, every day, exactly what 
he planned before breakfast. He had never given 
up an intention of fishing before. He wander- 
ed about the cottage. The beds were made and 
every thing was left in such order that he could 
see nothing to find fault with, which would have 
been'a great relief. He sauntered about the 
garden, and cut off some faded flowers, and tied 
up a few more, and wished it was evening, that 
he miffht water such as looked drooping. He 
wiped his brows, and said to himself again that 
it was too hot to work. He got his telescope, 
and looked seaward ; but a haze hung on the 
horizon, and he could discern no vessels. 
After a yawn, and a sudden thought that he 
could not dine for two hours later than usual on 
account of Margaret’s absence, he began to 
think of taking her advice and going to fish af- 
ter all. He locked the door, put the key into 
the hiding place in the porch, walked round the 
cottage to see that the windows were fast, teth- 


EVERY MAN IITS WHIM. 


17 


ered the gate doubly, and marched off with his 
fishing tackle. 

He turned to look back two or three times ; 
but no one was in sight the whole length of the 
little valley. There was no sound of horse or 
carriage on the road below ; and the stream 
looked so clear and cool as it plashed among 
the pebbles, that he was tempted to hasten on 
towards the pool above, where there was shade 
and abundance of fish. He thought no more of 
the heat now that he had let himself have his 
own way ; and proceeded whistling at a pace 
which would have done credit to a man of half 
his years. Once more he turned — at the top of 
the hill which was now to hide his dwelling from 
him — and fixing his telescope, saw to his great 
satisfaction that all was quiet ; for the poultry 
were picking their food in a way that they would 
not have done if a footstep had been within 
hearing. 

The shadows were lying dark and cool upon 
the water ; the trout were unusually ready to be 
caught, and Armstrong had time for a comfort- 
able nap after he had caught the number he had 
fixed upon before-hand as good sport. When 
he awoke, he hastened home that he might ar- 


m 

18 EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 

rive before Margaret and surprise her with a dish 
of trout, while she supposed he had been at 
home all the morning. From the top of the hill 
he looked again through his telescope, and saw 
a sight which made his limbs tremble under him. 
The fowls were scudding about the yard in ter- 
ror of a dog which was pursuing them ; which 
dog was called off by a man who was making 
the circuit of the house, looking in at the win- 
dows and trying at the door. Armstrong threw 
down all that he was carrying, put his hands to 
his mouth and hallooed with all his might. But 
the attempt was absurd. In the stillest mid- 
night, no human voice could have been heard 
from such a distance. Armstrong was soon 
sensible of this, and cursing himself for all the 
follies he had been guilty of that day, he snatch- 
ed up his goods and ran down the steep path as 
fast as his legs could carry him. He caught a 
glimpse of the man and the dog leisurely de- 
scending the steps, but when he arrived there 
himself, all was as vacant as when he departed. 
As he stood hesitating whether to follow the 
enemy or go home and see what mischief was 
done, Margaret appeared below. While she 
toiled up the steps, her master reproached her 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM 


19 


bitterly with her morning’s advice, and said that 
if his money was gone, he should lay the loss to 
her charge. In the midst of her terrors, Mar- 
garet could not help observing that it was rather 
hard to have one’s advice laughed at, and then 
be blamed for the consequences of following it. 
She thought her master should either not have 
laughed at her, or not have changed his mind : 
and then she should not have wasted her money 
in buying him fish that he did not want. Arm- 
strong was duly ashamed when he saw how his 
housekeeper had tried to console him for being 
left at home by bringing a dainty for his dinner. 
He helped her to open the gate, her trembling 
hands being unable to untAvist the rope, and 
carried her heavy basket into the porch. The 
key was safe in its hiding-place, as was the 
precious chest; and all within doors was in 
perfect order. No fowls Avere missing; no 
flower-beds Avere trampled ; but it was certain 
that the newspaper had been moved from one 
bench to the other of the arbor. 

‘ How you flurry yourself for nothing! ’ said 
the housekeeper. ‘I dare say it Avas nobody 
but Mr. Hollins come to play the flute with 
you.' 

B 


20 


EVERY MAN lllS WHIM. 


‘He always comes in the evening; and be- 
sides he has no dog.’ 

‘ He is a likely man to read the newspaper, 
however, and I do not know anybody else that 
would sit here and wait for you, as some one 
seems to have done. Suppose it was your son- 
in-law come to ask for the money again } ’ 

‘ He would not have gone away without his 
errand,’ answered the old man with a sour 
smile: ‘and besides, you would have met him.’ 

‘ That puts me in mind, John Armstrong, I 
certainly saw a gentleman in the wood just down 
below, and I remember he whistled to his dog 
that was rustling among the bushes. A smart, 
pleasant looking gentleman he was too ; and 
when I turned to remark him again, he seemed 
to be watching where I was going.’ 

‘A gentleman ! Well, he is the first that ever 
came here to see me, except Hollins. But 
now. Peg, what do you mean by a gentleman.?’ 

‘ A gentleman ? Why, you always know a 
gentleman, do not you .? A gentleman looks 
like a man — like a person — like a gentleman.’ 

‘No doubt,’ said Armstrong, laughing. ‘But 
tell me now, would you call me a gentleman?’ 

‘ Why, in as far as you are beholden to no 
one for your living ’ 


EVERY MAN IIIS WHIM. 


21 


‘ No, no, I do not mean that. Look at me, 
and say if I look like a gentleman.’ 

Margaret hesitated while she said that she did 
not think any gentleman commonly wore frocks 
of that sort; but that on Sundays, when she 
brushed his coat before he went to the town, she 
always thought he looked very genteel : but 
that this gentleman was dressed rather differ- 
ently. 

‘ Differently enough, I dare say,’ said Arm- 
strong. ‘ 1 am sure I hope my best suit will 
last my time ; for there is not a shop within 
twenty miles that would furnish me with such a 
waistcoat-piece as I should choose to wear; and 
I like to button my coat with buttons that one 
can take hold of, instead of such farthing-pieces 
as your Birmingham’ folks make now.’ 

‘ It is a pity,’ said Margaret, as she moved 
towards the cottage, ‘ that the gentleman did not 
stay to take a bit of fish ; for we have more than 
we can eat while it is good.’ 

For a month afterwards, Margaret’s prevailing 
idea was a superfluity of fish. She had great 
pleasure in making an acceptable present; but 
she could not bear to throw away money. 

So much br#^«Ui had been spent this day. 


22 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


that the inhabitants of the cottage felt quite 
weary before night, and scarcely opened their 
lips for many days, during which there was no 
further alarm.. 

One morning early, however, the sound of 
wheels was heard in the road below, — a rare 
sound ; for though the road was good and had 
formerly been much frequented when there 
were iron-works a few miles further on,_it was 
now seldom used but by a solitary traveller. 
The astonishment of Armstrong and his house- 
keeper was great to observe that carts laden 
with materials for building, and attended by a 
number of workmen, were passing by, and pres- 
ently stopped at a level place at 4he foot of a 
hill full in sight of Armstrong’s dwelling. He 
now, for the first time, perceived that the ground 
was marked out by stakes driven in at certain 
distances. Armstrong brought his basin of milk 
out of doors that .he might watch what was 
doing; and the whole day was one of idleness 
and lamentation ; for it was very evident, from 
the way that the laborers set to business, that 
an iron work was about to be established where 
the wild heath and green woods had flourished 
till now. 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


•23 


The next day made all clear. As the old 
man was drawing water for his plants at sunset, 
two gentlemen approached the gate. As one 
of them was Mr. Hollins, Armstrong advanced 
to welcome them. 

‘ I have not brought my flute,’ said Mr. Hol- 
lins, ‘ for I am come on quite a new errand this 
evening — to introduce to you a future neighbor, 
Mr. Wallace, who wishes for the pleasure of 
your acquaintance.’ 

Mr. Wallace, the same whom Margaret had 
seen in the wood, explained that he was a part- 
ner in the new iron-work, and that as his busi- 
ness would lead him to be every day within a 
stone’s cast of Armstrong’s dwelling, though he 
was at present inhabiting a house a little way 
off, he wished to be on a neighborly footing at 
once, and had therefore called the week before, 
and was sorry to find the house shut up. 

‘ I did not believe him at first,’ said Mr. Hol- 
lins, ‘ when he told me that he read the news- 
paper for an hour in your arbor in the hope of 
somebody appearing. I never knew you and 
Mrs. Blake both absent at once. How hap- 
pened it ’ 

When the story was told, Mr. Wallace praised 


21 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


the garden and the situation of the dwelling to 
the heart’s content of the owner, who was al- 
ways made eloquent by any allusions to his sin- 
gular mode of life. 

‘ Sir,’ said he, ‘ this plot of ground has pro- 
duced to me something more valuable than ever 
grew out of a garden soil. It has given me 
health, sir. My own hands have dug and plan- 
ted and gathered, and see the fruits of my labor ! 
Here I am, at seventy-nine, as strong as at forty. 
Not a grain of any drug have I swallowed since 
I came here ; not a night’s rest have I lost ; not 
a want have I felt; for I pride myself on having 
few wants which my own hands cannot satisfy. 
I find no fault with other men’s ways while 
they leave me mine. Let them choke one anoth- 
er up in towns if they choose, and stake their 
money and lose their peace in trade. I did so 
once, and therefore I do not wonder that oth- 
ers try the experiment: but I soon had enough 
of it. I am thankful that I found a resting-place 
so early as I did.’ 

‘You are very right, sir,’ replied Mr. Wal- 
lace, ‘ to judge for yourself only ; for while men 
have different tempers and are placed in differ- 
ent circumstances, they cannot all find happi- 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


25 


ness in the same way. Even supposing every 
man possessed of the means of purchasing such 
an abode as this, your way of life would not 
suit persons of social dispositions, or those who 
wish to rise in the world, or those who have 
families to educate and provide for. I am glad 
to see you enjoy life ; and I am glad that you 
allow others to enjoy it in a different way.’ 

‘ As long as they let me alone, I said, sir. I 
own I cannot look with any pleasure on what 
you are doing below ; and I never shall sir. It 
is very hard that we tenants of the wilderness ^ 
cannot be left in peace. The birds will be driven 
from yonder wood, the fishes will be poisoned in 
the streams, and where my eye has rested with 
pleasure on the purple heath, I shall see brick 
walls and a column of smoke. I call this very 
hard ; and though I mean no offence to you, 
sir, personally, I must say I wish you had 
carried your schemes any where ejse.’ 

‘ I am sorry our undertaking is so offensive 
to you,’ said Mr. Wallace : ‘ but I trust, when 
YOU see some hundreds of human beings thriv- 
ing, where there are now only woodcocks and 
trout, you will be reconciled to the change.’ 

‘ Never, sir, never. Let your gangs of labor- 


26 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


crs go where there is no beauty to be spoiled 
and no peaceable inhabitants to be injured. 
There is space enough in the wide world where 
they will be welcome.’ 

Mr. Hollins touched the arm of the stranger, 
as a hint to vex the old man no further by op- 
position. Mr. Wallace therefore changed the 
course of conversation, and soon won the regard 
of his host by admiring his flowers and shrubs, 
and remarking on the fine promise of fruit, all 
which he could do with perfect sincerity. When 
he went away, Armstrong invited him to come 
whenever he liked, if — and here he sighed — he 
should remain in the neighborhood. 

‘ What do you think of my old friend ? ’ ask- 
ed Mr. Hollins, as he descended the hill with 
his companion. 

‘ It gives one pleasure to see so fine an old 
man, and there are few who enjoy life so much 
at his age ; but it would not do to have many 
fall in love with his way of living.’ 

‘0 no,’ replied Mr. Hollins: ‘ it is very well 
for one here and there who can afford it to in- 
dulge his own fancy as to his mode of life ; but 
I do not know what the world would come to 
if our young men did no more for society than 


EVERY MAN HIS WHIM. 


27 


Armstrong. He takes up more room to much 
less purpose than could be afforded to people 
in general. I really grudge the quantity of food 
I see rotting in his garden every year ] and I 
am sure if he was aware how many thousands 
are in want of it, he would give up his peace 
and quiet for the sake of sharing it among them.’ 

‘ It would also be a great misfortune to any 
but so old a man to be cut off from all the ad- 
vantages of society. The young would be ig- 
norant and the aged prejudiced in such a state.’ 

‘ He is prejudiced,’ said Mr. Hollins, ‘ as you 
perceive. But we must make allowance for 
him.’ 

‘ I can do more than make allowance,’ re- 
plied his friend. ‘ I sincerely admire the activ- 
ity and cheerfulness which are so unlike the 
temper we often meet with at so advanced an 
age. But while we account for your friend’s 
prejudices by the circumstances of his life, it is 
no less true that men are not living in the right 
way who live to themselves alone.’ 


28 


BUSY SEED-TIMES 


CHAPTER 11. 

BUSY SEED-TIMES MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 

Under the active management of Mr. Wallace, 
the establishment of the iron-work, proceeded 
rapidly. It was set on foot on rather a small 
scale at first, there being but one furnace erect- 
ed. There was a house built for Mr. Wallace, 
and a great many dwellings for the labor- 
ers, so that the place presently bore the appear- 
ance of a village. It was reported that Mr. 
Wallace would be married before long, and 
bring his lady to his new house ; and it was ob- 
served that if any of the other partners should 
come to reside, the place' would be a thriving 
and pleasant one to live in. Though old Arm- 
strong groaned at the mention of every new in- 
habitant, every body else thought it would be an 
advantage to have as many people settled there 
as could be provided with employment. 

There were several partners in this concern, 
though their names did not all appear in the 
firm. Mr. Leslie, the richest of them, lived in 


MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 20 

London, and was a Member of Parliament. 
He advanced a great deal of money to carry on 
the works, but took no trouble in the business, 
besides signing his name to papers sometimes, 
and receiving his large profits when the accounts 
were made up. Mr. Cole was also rich. He 
held about one-third of the whole concern, and 
was far more interested in the proceedings than 
Mr. Leslie. He came now and then to see 
what was doing, found fault with every thing, 
contradicted Mr. Wallace’s orders, and when he 
had done all he could to put every body out, went 
away, promising to repeat his visit by and by, and 
if he was better satisfied, to send his son to learn 
business and qualify himself to take a share in 
time. Mr. Bernard, the third partner, had sons 
whom he wished to be instructed in the man- 
agement of an iron-work, and he resolved to 
settle himself and his whole family on the spot, 
and to be an acting partner. Mr. Wallace was 
very glad of this ; for he was young and had 
not had much experience of business, and felt 
the responsibility of his present situation very 
great. He had a high opinion of Mr. Bernard 
in every way, and hoped that if his own zeal and 
industry were supported by the talent and ex- 


80 


BUSY SEED-TI3IES 


perience of his partner, the concern would 
prosper. He was sorry that some time must 
elapse before the Bernard family could come ; 
but this afforded the better opportunity for get- 
ting every thing into order before their arrival. 

Mr. Wallace was possessed of less property 
than any of his partners ; but he held a gooa 
share of the concern in consideration of his de- 
voting his whole time and exertions to business. 
His great-grandfather had begun the world with- 
out a shilling. He was a laborer, and by his 
skill and industry he managed to earn rather 
more than was sufficient to feed and clothe his 
family of four children. He thought within 
himself whether he should lay by the surplus to 
set his young people forward in the same way 
of life with himself, or whether he should give it 
them in the shape of such an education as he 
could procure for them. He was too sensible a 
man to think of spending money in indulgences 
for himself or them, for no better reason than that 
he had it by him. He chose the wise way ; he 
put out at interest a sum sufficient to secure him 
against want in case of sickness or old age, and 
employed the rest in giving his children a good 
plain education which fitted them for a some- 


MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 


31 


what higher occupation than his own. His 
eldest son was first apprentice and then shop- 
man to a linen-draper, and was at last made a 
partner, and left a little capital to his son, our 
Mr. Wallace’s father who stocked a shop and 
rose in the world so as to be able to leave his 
son a few thousand pounds, which he embark- 
ed, as we have seen, in an iron-work which 
promised large profits. 

Mr. Wallace never forgot how his little for- 
tune had come to him. He was accustomed to 
say to his friend Mr. Bernard, that it arose out 
of labor and grew by means of saving ; and that 
if it was henceforth to increase, it must be in the 
same way ; so he was not sparing of his labor, 
and was careful to spend less than his income 
that his capital might grow. 

When he came to establish the iron-work, he 
did not bring all his own capital or that of his 
partners in the form of money. Their capital 
was divided into three parts — the implements of 
labor, the materials on which labor was to be 
employed, and the subsistence of the laborers ; 
or — which is the same thing — the money which 
would enable the laborers to purchase their 
subsistence. In the first division were compre- 


BUSY SEED-TIMES 


liended the blast furnace, the refineries, the 
forge, and mill, with all their machinery, and the 
tools of the laborers. All these might be term- 
ed instruments of labor. In the second division 
were reckoned the iron ore, the coal and lime- 
stone, which were purchased with the estate. 
In the third division were included the wages of 
the work-people. This division of the capital 
would have remained unaltered whether the 
people had been paid for their labor in bread 
and clothes and habitations, or in wages which 
enabled them to purchase these necessaries. 
It was merely as a matter of convenience to 
both parties, that the wages were paid in mon- 
ey ; and indeed, in some cases, the men prefer- 
red having a cottage and less wages, to more 
wages and no dwelling. However this matter 
was settled, Mr. Wallace always considered that 
his capital consisted of three parts, — implements 
of labor, the materials on which labor is employ- 
ed, and the subsistence of laborers. Capital 
may exist in one only of these forms, or in two, 
or, as we have seen, in three; but it cannot ex- 
ist in any form which does not belong to one of 
these divisions. 

It gave Mr. Wallace great pleasure to go 


MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 


33 


round the works and see how the employment 
of this capital afforded subsistence to nearly 
three hundred people and to remember that the 
productions of their labor would promote the 
comfort and convenience of many hundreds or 
thousands more in the distant places to which 
the iron of this district was carried. He made 
this remark one day to his friend Mr. Hollins, 
when he was taking him round the works and 
pointing out what progress had been made since 
his last visit. ‘ It indeed is rather better' em- 
ployed than if it were locked up in a chest,’ said 
Mr. Hollins. ‘ I wish we could persuade our 
old friend on the hill to invest his two hundred 
guineas in your concern. His daughter would 
be very glad of the proceeds ; you would be glad 
of the increase of capital ; more iron w’ould be 
prepared for the use of society, and more labor- 
ers provided for here. 

‘ Two hundred guineas would certainly go 
some little way towards procuring all these ad- 
vantages, and the least of them would be prefer- 
able to letting the guineas lie by as useless as so 
many pebbles. Not one of all the owners of 
capital round us would be guilty of such a waste 
of the resources by which society must live.’ 


34 


BUSY SEED-TIMES 


‘ And, pray, how many capitalists do you 
reckon besides yourself? ’ said a voice near. 

The gentlemen turned and saw a strange 
looking figure standing just behind them, whom 
Mr. Wallace remembered to have seen repeat- 
edly, within a few days. He was a strong, 
hearty^ooking man of about thirty, with a 
cheerful countenance, but a most destitute ap- 
pearance. His clothes hung in tatters about 
him ; he had neither hat, shoes, nor stockings. 
He had lingered about the place for some time ; 
now seating himself on the hills near and watch- 
ing the laborers for hours, and then coming 
down to talk with them till sent away by the 
overlooker. 

‘ Pray who may you be, friend ? ’ asked Mr. 
Wallace. 

‘ If it suits you to call me Paul, that name will 
do as well as another,’ said the man. ‘ And if 
you want to know my profession, I will tell you 
that I am just about making my choice ; and if 
you further inquire what is my business here, I 
answer"* that I have come to suit myself.’ 

‘ Indeed ! you seem to make very sure of 
suiting me,’ said Mr. Wallace. ‘ But I would 
have you know we allow no idlers on our prem- 
ises.’ 


MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 35 

‘ Show me the hardest laborer in your works, 
and I will engage to do more than he.’ 

‘ In which department ? ’ 

‘ Why, it would be bad policy to own oneself 
ignorant of all ; so I came down this morning 
to find out which sort of labor is best paid ; and 
to that I will swear myself equal. But I -think I 
must begin humbly ; so, suppose I take a pick 
and work at the tunnel ? I will tell you to-mor- 
row how my new way of life suits me. So good 
morning.’ 

‘ Stop, sir. Let us hear a little of your old 
way of life, if you please. I should like to 
know where you picked up so much assurance. 
I thought you were a beggar and not a laborer. 
There is no difficulty in getting employment in 
this neighborhood, and the lowest wages that 
ever were given would find you better clothing 
than that you have on.’ 

‘Very true,’ said Paul. You are right in ev- 
ery particular. I have been idle, as far as the 
labor of the hands is concerned, for nearly six 
months ; but I have all the time been busy ob- 
serving and reflecting, in which occupation my 
neighbors have been kind enough to indulge 
me by giving me food as often as I said I was 
hungry.’ 

C 


7JUSy SEED-TIMES 


3G 


‘And pray what were you six months ago?^ 

‘ That I will leave untold, that you may have 
the amusement of guessing how it is that 1 
speak so little like either a beggar or a laborer. 
All that you are concerned with is, what I am now, 
I am a man with a strong pair of arms to work, 
and a strong mind to persevere.’ 

‘ I am afraid that you are too proud a gentle- 
man to work under the eye of the overlooker, 
which you must do if you work for me at all.’ 

‘ What matters it to me where the overlook- 
er stands, as long as he does not binder my 
work ? None but knaves fear being watched, 
and I am an honest man.’ 

‘ If your account of yourself be true, it is a 
pity you should be a beggar. I will call the 
overlooker and bid him set you to work.’ 

‘ First answer me, unless you have any ob- 
jection, the question with which I introduced 
myself to you. Remember how many of your 
inquiries I have answered, and be pleased to ob- 
serve that the tunnel-workmen are going to din- 
ner, so that I have nearly an hour before me, 
which might hang heavy, as I have no dinner to 
eat.’ 

The gentlemen were so much amused at ih© 


MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 


37 


oddity of this man, that they did not walk away, 
as many would have done after such a speech. 
Paul’s manner, though free was not disrespect- 
ful, and his language testified that he must have 
held a superior situation to that in which he now 
appeared. 

‘ Am I to refer your hint about a dinner,’ said 
Mr. Wallace, laughing, ‘to your old trade, or 
your new one ? Are you begging your dinner, 
or do you wish for it as wages in advance ? ’ 

‘ Neither the one nor the other, sir. I used 
to wait for my dinner till seven for fashion’s 
sake : and now I can wait till six for honesty’s 
sake. By that time I hope to have ekrned my 
meat; and from the moment you promised me 
work, I gave up begging. I shall beg no more.’ 

Mr. Wallace thought, however, it would not 
be fair play to let Paul begin his labors hungry. 
He called to Briggs, one of the cokers, and ask- 
ed if he had more dinner in his basket than he 
wanted. He had. 

‘ Well, then, give this man some, and he will 
pay you to-night, and if he does not, I will.’ 

‘ And now,’ said Paul, after apologizing for 
eating in the gentlemen’s presence, ‘ will you 


38 


BUSY SEED-TIMES 


tell me who are capitalists here besides your- 
self?’ 

‘ Every man about the works might be so, ex- 
cept perhaps yourself, Paul ; and you may be a 
capitalist six hours hence.’ 

‘ That depends upon what we mean by the 
word,’ said Paul, smiling. ‘ Do you mean by 
capital, something produced with a view to 
further production, or any production which may 
be exchanged for some other production ? 
There is a vast difference between the two.’ 

‘ A great difference, indeed,’ observed Mr. 
Hollins. ‘Parry, the overlooker, is a capitalist, 
for he has saved money enough to build yonder 
cottage, which he lets at a rent of five pounds 
a year ; but is Briggs the coker, a capitalist ? 
He has property, I know ; a bed, a table, and a 
few chairs, and other articles of furniture; but 
as these are not instrumental to further produc- 
tion, can they be called capital ? ’ 

‘ In a certain sense they might,’ said Mr Wal- 
lace ; ‘ for they might be turned into money, 
which could be employed productively. Fur- 
niture is one way of investing capital, though 
not a profitable one ; but when I spoke of all 
our peojile being capitalists, I meant that all 


MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 


39 


earned more than it is absolutely necessary for 
them to spend ; which is, I believe, the case, in 
the present prosperous state of our trade. Ev- 
ery man does, I believe, possess more than food 
for the hour, always excepting Paul : and that 
possession, whether it be a shilling or fifty 
pounds, is capital at the time it is received, 
whether it be afterwards invested • in furniture, 
which might be sold again, or lent out at inter- 
est, or made productive in any other way.’ 

‘ But if that only is capital which is produced 
with a view to further production,’ said Mr. 
Hollins, ‘ I hope there are a good many among 
your three hundred laborers who are capitalists 
in this sense.’ 

‘Several,’ said Mr. Wallace; ‘and such I 
reckon benefactors to society ; but there are al- 
so many who, having a roof over their heads and 
something to cover them,' are satisfied, and spend 
all their earnings as fast as they get them in a 
way which brings no return. Such men become, 
sooner or later, a burden to the community.’ 

A deep sigh from Paul made the gentleman 
look at him, and they were struck with the mel- 
ancholy expression of his countenance. When 
he saw that he was observed, he roused himself 
and put in his word again. 


40 


EUSY SEED-TIMES 


‘ I have heard people say you may see plants 
grow in a thunder-shower, and that the sun sees 
a baby grow in a summer’s day ; but neither is 
so easy to be seen as the growth of capital. I 
should like to be by at the opening of a new 
iron-work, — not with all the helps that we have 
about us here, — but where people had only their 
wits and their hands to depend upon. That 
would be the place to watch capital from its 
birth, through all the stages of its nursing, till it 
was full grown like yours.’ 

‘ Let us hear your notion of the process, 
Paul.’ 

‘ I suppose it might occur to a shrewd man, 
finding a lump of mineral melted in a very hot 
fire and hardened again, that it would make 
better tools than wood. He would heat his 
lump, and beat it with stones while it was hot, 
and bend it and notch it and sharpen it in a 
rude way, till he would be so much better off 
for tools than his neighbors, that they would 
try to get some like his. If they could not find 
any more ironstone, he would use his tools to 
dig or pick it out of the earth for them.’ 

‘ Then, Paul, his tools would be his capital.’ 

‘ Certainly : his tools would be capital arising 


MAKE RICH HARV'ESTS. 


41 


from labor, and tending to further production. 
His neighbors would pay him well in such pro- 
duce as they could spare for furnishing them 
with iron, and then they would all set about 
making tools. They would soon find that they 
could get on faster and better by dividing their 
labor ; and so one would keep up the fire, and 
another would see that the ore flowed into the 
hole as it should do : and another would beat it 
while soft, and another would notch it into a 
saw, and another sharpen it into an axe.’ 

‘Very well, then. As there must be labor 
before capital, there must be capital before di- 
vision of labor.’ 

‘To be sure. There would be nothing for 
them to divide their labor upon if they had not 
the ironstone, which is their capital as much as 
the man’s first tool is his. — The more tools they 
make, the more ore they can procure.’ 

‘ So the division of labor assists the increase 
of capital.’ 

‘ There is the beauty of it,’ replied Paul. 

‘ They play into one another’s hands. Labor 
makes capital ; capital urges to a division of 
labor ; and a division of labor makes capital 
grow. When the people we are talk in o; of are 


4-2 


BUSY SEED-TIMES 


all supplied with tools, (which have gone on 
improving all this time in the quality of the met- 
al as well as the make of the implements,) they 
begin to traffic with the next district, bartering 
their manufacture for whatever productions they 
may agree to take in exchange. As their man- 
ufacture improves, they get more wealth ; and 
then again, as they get more wealth, their man- 
ufacture improves ; they find new devices for 
shortening their labor ; they make machines 
which do their work better than their own hands 
could do it, till an iron work becomes what we 
see it here, — a busy scene where man directs 
the engines whose labor he once performed ; 
w’here earth and air and fire and water are used 
for his purpose as his will directs; and a hun- 
dred dwellings are filled with plenty, where, for 
want of capital, men once wrapped themselves 
in skins to sleep on bare ground, and cut up 
their food with flints. — So, now that I have giv- 
en you the natural history of capital as I read it, 
I will wish you good morning, and go to my 
work.’ 

‘ Pa;ul you astonish me,’ said Mr. Wallace. 
‘ How is it that one who understands so well 
the history of wealth should be so destltiUe ?’ 


MAKE RICH HARVESTS. 


43 


‘Do not you know,’ said Paul, turning once 
more as he was departing — ‘ do not you know 
that the bare-headed pauper understands well 
what is meant by a kingly crown ? Do you not 
suppose that the hungry children who stand 
round a fruiter’s door see that a pine-apple is 
not a turnip ? Then why should not I, clothed 
in rags, be able to speak of wealth ? I told you 
my head had not been as idle as my hands. On 
yonder crag I have sat for weeks, watching the 
busy crowd below, as the stray-sheep marks 
from a distance how the flock browzes by day 
and is penned in the fold at night. The stray 
sheep may come back experienced in pasturage, 
and not the worse for its fleece being torn by 
briars ; and I, for all my tatters, may, by tracing 
the fortunes of others as on a map, have discov- 
ered the best road to my own.’ 

As he said these last words, he held forth liis 
hands, as if to intimate that they were to be the 
instruments of his fortune, and then, with a 
slight bow to the gentlemen hastened to the 
tunnel where he was appointed to work, leaving 
his companions to express to one another their 
curiosity and surprise. . 


44 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HARM OF A WHIM. . 

The report that Mr. Wallace was going to 
be married was true. He disappeared in course 
of time ; and when his agent said he was gone 
to London on business and would soon be back, 
every body guessed that he * would not return 
alone. It was observed that the house appeared 
to be very elegantly furnished, and the garden 
laid out as if for a lady’s pleasure : and the cur- 
ricle and pair of ponies which took their place in 
the coach-house and stable were luxuries which 
Mr. Wallace would not have procured for him- 
self. 

Amurmer of surprise and pleasure ran through 
the place one Sunday morning when this curri- 
cle was seen standing lat Mr. Wallace’s door. 
Nobody knew that he was at home except the 
agent, who was now remembered to have been 
particularly strict the previous night about hav- 
ing the whole establishment in good order. Be- 
fore many gazers could gather round the car- 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


45 


riagc, Mr. Wallace appeared with a lady on 
his arm. She looked young and elegant, to 
judge by her figure ; but she was closely veiled, 
and never once looked up or made any acknowl- 
edgment of the bows of the men who stood 
hat in hand, or of the curtseys of the women. 
Mr. Wallace spoke to two or three who stood 
nearest, and nodded and smiled at the others, 
and then drove off, fearing that they should be 
late for church. 

When a turn in the road had hid from them all 
traces of human habitation, the lady threw back 
her veil and began to look about her, and to ad- 
mire the charms of hill, dale, and wood, which 
her husband pointed out to her. She had much 
taste for natural beauties of this kind ; and to 
this her husband trusted for the removal of a set 
of prejudices which gave him great concern. 
She was very amiable when among persons of 
her own rank of life; but, from having associated 
solely with such, she felt awkward and uncom- 
fortable when obliged to have communication 
with any others. The poor in her neighbor- 
hood who saw her beautifully dressed and sur- 
rounded with luxuries, while she never bestowed 
a word or a look on them, supposed her to be 


46 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


very proud^ and did not love her the more for 
all the money she gave away in charity; but 
she was not proud, — only shy. This her hus- 
band knew ; and as he liked to keep up a good 
understanding with every body about him, and 
was familiar with the ways of his neighbors, 
whether high or low, he trusted to bring her 
round to habits of intercourse with all in turn, 
and to relieve her from an awkwardness which 
must be more distressing to herself than to any 
Dody else. While she was standing up in the 
carriage, pointing out with eagerness the beauty 
of the situation of the town, her husband check- 
ed the horses, and held out his hand to some- 
body whom they had overtaken on the road. 
Mrs. Wallace instantly sat down, and drew her 
veil round her face, and put but little grace into 
her manner when her husband introduced his 
friend and neighbor, Mr. Armstrong, to whom 
he had promised on her behalf that she should 
pay a visit to his cottage some day. Mr. Arm- 
strong replaced his hat when aware of the cold- 
ness of the lady’s behavior, and after one or two 
civil inquiries about her journey, begged he 
might not detain her, and returned to the path- 
way.’ She was considerably surprised to learn 


THE HARM OP A WHIM. 47 

that she should see him again, presently at church, 
as he sat in the same pew. There was a corner in 
this pew which had been his own for some years ; 
and it was not the intention of Mr. Wallace, or 
the desire of his lady when she heard the cir- 
cumstances, that he should be put out of his ac 
customed place for the sake of a new comer. 

The new comer scarcely knew, however, 
what to think or do when Armstrong took his 
seat beside her after the service had begun. The 
clatter of his hob-nailed shoes as he entered, the 
ease with which he flung down his hat, and then 
stood a minute to smooth his hair and look round 
upon the congregation before he composed 
himself in his snug corner, were all strange to 
her : but she was most startled by the strength 
with which he put forth his tremulous voice in 
the psalm. He was heard far above all the oth- 
er singers, which would have been very well if 
he had been thirty years younger, for he under- 
stood music and had a good ear ; but consider 
ing that his voice was cracked and quavering 
with age, it was desirable that he should now 
moderate its power. When the psalm was over, 
Mrs. Wallace drew a long breath, and hoped 
that she should grow accustomed to this sort of 
music in time. 


48 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


‘ I wish somebody would give Mr. Armstrong 
a hint not to sing so loud/ said she, when again 
in the curricle, after having undergone some 
bridal introductions. 

‘ It does not disturb those who are used to it, 
as I am afraid it did you to-day. I should have 
prepared you for it, but I forgot to mention it. 
When you hear him play the flute you will par- 
don his singing.’ 

‘ What a wonderful thing for a man of eighty 
to have breath to play the flute ! ’ 

‘ Everything belonging to him is extraordina- 
ry, as you will see when we pay him a visit, 
which we will do to-morrow.’ 

‘ Why not this evening ? The sooner it is 
over the better, if we must go.’ 

‘ He will not be at home till dark this eve- 
ning; and besides, I want you to visit him and 
his housekeeper in the midst of their week-day 
business. You can form no idea of his usual 
appearance from seeing him in his Sunday 
trim.’ 

‘ 1 cannot tell what to expect, then, for I am 
sure he is like nobody else to day. But what a 
pleasant countenance he has, when one has 
presence of mind to observe it ! ’ 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


49 


‘ I hoped you would think so.’ 

‘ But where will he be this afternoon ? ’ 

‘ Worshipping God after his own fashion, as 
he says. In the morning he pays his devotions 
after the manner of society,— the last social cus- 
tom he has retained. In the afternoon, when 
the weather is fine, he climbs yonder peak, with 
a microscope in his pocket, and his telescope in 
his hand, and there he by turns examines the 
heaths and mosses under foot, and looks out for 
fleets on the far horizon, repeating at intervals, 
with the full power of his voice, the hundred and 
fourth — his favorite psalm.’ 

‘ That is beautiful ! ’ cried Mrs. Wallace. ‘ 0 
let us go to morrow. Let us go very often, if 
he will let us.’ 

On the next evening, accordingly, they went. 
Armstrong was employed in his garden, looking 
less like the owner of so beautiful a spot of 
ground than the humblest of laborers. His hat 
was brown and unshapely, and his frock earth- 
stained. He stretched out his hard hand to the 
lady when she appeared, and bade her welcome. 
The housekeeper did not show herself, as her 
maxim was, that it was time enough to come 
when she was called. 


50 


THE* HARM OF A WHIM. 


As Mrs. Wallace was not tired, and as she 
perceived that the old man was happier in his 
garden than any where else, she proposed that 
ne should show her on what plan he arranged 
and tilled it. It proved very unlike any garden 
she had ever seen, having all the beauty of wild- 
ness, but poorly cultivated and laid out in a 
wasteful manner. It consisted of three distinct 
portions, — one, half-orchard, half-shrubbery, 
where lilacs grew luxuriantly out of the turf, and 
fruit-trees bordered the green walks ; another, 
half potato field, half kitchen-plot; and a third, 
which might have been* a lady’s pleasure-garden. 
This part was better taken care of than the rest, 
and was the old man’s pride. It sloped towards 
the south, and was hedged in so securely that 
none could overlook it, and it was no easy mat- 
ter to find its entrance. A well, in the midst of 
a plot of turf, was as picturesque an object as 
could have been placed in the nook near the 
entrance. Strawberry beds occupied the sloping 
bank, and borders crow’^ded with rich flowers 
completed the beauty of the whole. 

‘ These gra'vel walks suit a lady’s feet better 
than the grass in the orchard,’ said Armstrong. 
'I must find time to mow those paths some day 
soon.’ 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


51 


‘ I should think you must be at a loss some- 
times,’ observed Mrs. Wallace, 'to know what 
task to set about first, as you will let nobody 
help you.’ 

' I assure you, madam, I often think of Eve’s 
dilemma of the same kind. But if men had no 
worse perplexities than how to choose between 
a variety of pleasant tasks, ours would be a very 
happy world.’ 

‘But Eve would have been glad of help if she 
could have had it as easily as you. She would 
have set one to train the branches, and another 
to remove the fallen blossoms, and another 
to water the young shoots, while she tied up the 
roses as before.’ 

‘Not if she had known, as I know, the mis- 
chief that arises as soon as people begin to join 
their labors. There is no preserving peace and 
honesty but by keeping men’s interests separate. 
When I look down, sir, upon your establishment 
there, I say to myself that I had rather live where 
I am, if I had only a tenth part of this ground and 
one room in my cottage, than own yonder white 
house and be master of three hundred laborers.’ 

Mr. Wallace smiled, and would have changed 

the conversation, knowing the uselessness of 
JJ 


52 


THE HARM OF A WHIM 


reasoning about the advantages of society with 
one whose passion was for solitude ; but his 
wife’s curiosity and the old man’s love of the 
subject soon caused them to return to the topic. 

‘ I should like to know,’ said Mrs. Wallace, 
^what it is that shocks you so much in our do- 
ings below.’ 

She could not have made a more welcome 
inquiry. Armstrong was eloquent upon the in- 
elegance of smoke, and rows of houses, and 
ridges of cinders, and all the appearances which 
attend an iron-work, and appealed to his guest 
as a lady of taste, whether such a laying waste 
of the works of nature was not melancholy. 
Mrs. Wallace could not agree that it was. 
was true that a grove was a finer object at this 
distance than a cinder-ridge, and that a moun- 
tain-stream was more picturesque than a column 
of smoke ; but there was beauty of a different 
kind which belonged to such establishments, and 
to which she was sure Mr. Armstrong would 
not be blind if he would only come down and 
survey the works. There was in the first place 
the beauty of the machinery. She thought it 
could not but gratify the taste to see how men 
bring the powers of nature under their own con- 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


53 


trol by their own contrivances ; how the wind 
and the fire are made to act in the furnace so 
that the metal runs out in a pure stream below ; 
how, by the application of steam, such a sub- 
stance as iron is passed between rollers, and 
compressed and shaped by them as easily as if 
it were potter’s clay, and then cut into lengths 
like twigs. 

Armstrong shook his head, and said this was 
all too artificial for him ; and that granting (as 
he did not deny) that nature worked as much as 
man in these processes, she worked in another 
way which was not so beneficial, — in men’s 
hearts, making them avaricious, deceitful, and 
envious. 

‘ I was going to say,’ replied Mrs. Wallace, 
‘ that there is another sort of beauty in such es- 
tablishments, which I prefer to that I was speak- 
ing of. I know nothing more beautiful than to 
see a number of people fully employed, and 
earning comforts for themselves and each other. 
If people obtain their money as they want it, 
they are less likely to be avaricious than if it 
came to them without exertion on their part; 
because the energy which they give to the pur- 
suit in the one case, is likely to fix itself upon 


54 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


its rewards in the other. I do not know of any 
particular temptation to deceit or envy where 
all have their appointed labor and a sufficient 
reward without interfering with one another.’ 

‘ I have seen enough of the tricks of trade,’ 
said the old man. 

‘You have been unfortunate, as I have un- 
derstood,’ said Mr. Wallace; ‘ but it does not 
follow that there is knavery wherever there is 
social industry, any more than that every one 
has such a pretty place as this to retire to in 
case of disgust with the world. But, as I was 
going to add to my wife’s description, there ap- 
pears to me not less beauty in the mechanism 
of society than in the inventions of art.’ 

‘ That is, you, being a master, like to survey 
the ranks of slaves under you.’ 

‘Not so,’ said Mr. Wallace mildly, for he 
was not inclined to resent the petulance of the 
old man. ‘ There is no slavery, no enforced 
labor, no oppression, that I am aware of, in our 
establishment. Masters and men agree upon 
measures of mutual service, and the exertions 
of each party are alike necessary to the success 
of their undertaking.’ 

‘ It may be so just now, because your trade is 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


55 


flourishing more than it ever was before, and 
labor is scarce, and your people are well paid , 
but they will not long be contented. When 
prices fall and wages must come down, they will 
discover that they are slaves.*' 

‘Never,’ replied Mr. Wallace, ‘ for this rea- 
son : there is no bond of mutual interest between 
master and slave, as there is between the capi- 
talist and the free laborer. It matters nothing 
to the slave whether his master employs his 
capital actively or profitably or not ; while this 
is the all-important consideration between the 
free laborer and his employer. It is the in- 
terest of our men and ourselves that the produc- 
tiveness of our trade should be increased to the 
utmost ; that we should turn out as much work 
as possible, and that therefore we should im- 
prove our machinery, divide our labor to the 
best advantage, and bring all our processes to 
the greatest possible perfection. All our labor- 
ers, therefore, who understand their own inter- 
est, try to improve their industry and skill : 
while, if they were slaves and their lot did not 
depend on their own exertions, they would prob- 
ably be careless and indolent. In such a case, I 
should have no more pleasure than you in sur- 


56 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


veying our establishment, if indeed such an one 
could exist.’ 

‘You are the first iron -master, the first mas- 
ter of any kind whom I ever heard to declare 
that both parties in such a concern had a com- 
mon interest.’ 

‘ I am surprised at that,’ replied Mr. Wallace, 

‘ for no truth appears to me more evident. How 
many classes have you been accustomed to con- 
sider concerned in production? ’ 

Armstrong laughed, while he pointed signifi- 
cantly to himself, and then looked about him. 

‘ You unite in yourself the functions of capi- 
talist and laborer,’ replied Mr. Wallace; ‘but 
yours is, I am happy to say, an uncommon 
case.’ 

‘ You are happy to say ? ’ 

‘ Yes ; for if all men had followed your mode 
of life to this day, there would have been no 
iron-work, nor any other sort of manufacture in 
existence, and life would have been barbarous 
in comparison with what it is, and there would 
have been few in comparison born to enjoy it. 
You would yourself have been a sufferer. You 
would have had no spade and no scythe, no bucket 
for your well, no chain for your bucket, or 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


57 


newspaper in the morning, and no Farmer’s 
Journal in the afternoon. Since you owe all 
these things and a thousand others to the co- 
operation of capitalists and laborers, my dear 
sir, it seems rather ungracious to despise such 
a union.’ 

‘ Well, sir, you shall have it your own way. 
How many classes of producers do you reckon .^’ 

‘ Speaking of manufacturing produce, I reck- 
on two, — the two 1 have mentioned ; and I 
never listen to any question of their compara- 
tive value ; since they are both necessary to 
production.’ 

‘ I should have thought labor more valuable 
than capital,’ said Mrs. Wallace, ‘because it 
must have been in operation first. The first 
material must have been obtained, the first ma- 
chine must have been made, by labor.’ 

‘ True. Capital owes its origin to labor ; but 
labor is in its turn assisted and improved by 
capital to such a degree that its productiveness 
is incalculably increased. Our laborers could 
no more send ship-loads of bar-iron abroad with- 
out the help of the furnace and forge and ma- 
chinery supplied by their masters, than their 
masters without the help of their labor.’ 


58 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


‘ Then the more valuable this capital is, the 
more abundant the material wrought, the more 
perfect the machinery, the better for the labor- 
er. And yet all do not think so.’ 

‘Because those who object to machinery do 
not perceive its true nature and office. Ma- 
chinery, as it does the work of many men, or 
that which it would take one man a long time 
to do, may be viewed as hoarded labor. This, 
being set to work in addition to natural labor, 
yields a greatly-increased produce ; and the 
gains of the capitalist being thus increased, he 
employs a yet larger portion of labor, with a 
view to yet further gains ; and so a perpetual 
progress is made.’ 

‘ Not without drawbacks, however,’ said Arm- 
strong. ‘ Do not forget the consequent failure 
of demand.’ 

‘ That is only a temporary evil ; for when the 
market is overstocked, prices fall ; and when the 
price has fallen, more people can afford to buy 
than bought before, and so a new demand grows 
up. If printing and paper-making, for instance, 
were still unknown, we should have no news- 
papers ; if the machinery were very imperfect, 
they would be so expensive as to be within 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


69 


reach of none but the wealthy ; but, as the pro- 
duce of both arts is abundant, and therefore 
cheap, we find news-papers in every alehouse, 
and if it were not for a duty which has nothing 
to do with their production, we should see them 
lying in many a cottage window. Thus, the 
public are equally obliged to the owners of 
printing presses and their workmen. These 
workmen are obliged to the masters whose cap- 
ital sets them to work ; and the masters are 
obliged to their men for the labor which sets 
their presses going. All are gainers by the co- 
operation of labor and capital.’ 

‘ I was very near doing a thing the other day,* 
said Armstrong, ‘ which would have made you 
suppose that I was going to adopt some of your 
notions. I had observed a man lingering about 
the hills ’ 

‘ Is his name Paul ? * 

‘ I never asked ; but he was a beggar covered 
with rags, who used to sit for hours watching 
what went on below. I was so persuaded that 
he was of my opinion about your doings, that 1 
became quite interested in him.’ 

‘ You liked him for being neither a laborer 
nor a capitalist ^ ’ 


GO 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


‘Not quite so/ said Armstrong, laughing; 
' for I would not have the poor become beggars. 
I was just going to ask him to help me get my 
garden into winter order, when I found he had 
secured a cell in your hive. I was quite disap- 
pointed.’ 

‘ That the drone had become a busy bee, or 
that he had left you to gather in your own 
stores ? ’ 

‘ My hands are sufficient for my own busi- 
ness, as they have ever been,’ said Armstrong. 
‘ But I w'as sorry that the man forfeited his in- 
dependence, which was the very thing I liked in 
him.’ • ’ 

‘ Will you continue to pity him when you 
sees his tatters exchanged for decent clothing, 
his bare head housed in a snug dwelling, and 
his independent tastes gratified by the beauty of 
his flower-beds and the luxury of a book to 
amuse his winter evenings? Paul seems to me 
a very extraordinary man. I expect soon to see 
him circumstanced as I have described, for he 
works with might and main, and I imagine has 
rather a different notion of independence from 
yours.’ 

In order to give Mrs. Wallace a distinct idea 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


61 


of what his own passion for independence was, 
Mr. Armstrong invited her into his house, and 
showed her all his plans for waiting upon, and 
employing, and amusing himself. He was not 
satisfied with her admiring his fishing-tackle, his 
fowling-piece, his flute, and his books ; he 
wanted her to acknowledge that there was more 
security and peace in his mode of life than in 
any other; — a somewhat unreasonable thing to 
expect from a bride whose husband was so dif- 
ferently engaged. She could not in this respect 
satisfy him ; but she endeavored to conquer the 
shyness she felt coming on when Margaret made 
her appearance, and to converse with her in her 
own style ; and when the lady and gentleman at 
length departed, they expressed with equal 
warmth their hopes that the old man would long 
continue to find his mode of life secure and 
peaceful. They little imagined, at the moment, 
what was soon to happen, — they little knew 
when they discussed his favorite notions over 
their breakfast-table the next morning, what had 
already happened, to overthrow his sense of se- 
curity forever. 

After parting with his guest, Armstrong stood 
for some time at the top of the rocky steps, 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 

watching the two figures winding down the hill 
in the twilight. Then he recollected that he had 
been interrupted in watering some choice plants, 
and hastened to finish his task. When he had 
hungup his bucket, and put away his tools, and 
seen that his gate was fastened, he leaned upon 
it, watching the last fading of the sky, and list- 
ening to the brook as it rippled along. His 
meditations took their character in part from the 
j)receding conversation ; for while he repeated 
to himself how much pleasanter it was to observe 
and love nature than to gather wealth, he could 
not drive from his mind the question which had 
been often asked him, of what use his gold was 
to him ; and when he thanked God for having 
given him enough for his simple wants, it occur- 
red to him whether he ought not to dispose of 
the wealth he did not use for the benefit of oth- 
ers ; especially as there was a way of doing so, 
— by putting it out to circulate and bear interest, 
— by which it might be useful without losing 
any of its value. While so many were in want, 
could it be right in him to hoard } While so 
many could advantageously employ capital, 
could it be right that any should lie by idle ? — 
Such thoughts were not at all out of place in a 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


63 


eligious meditation ; for the best part of religion 
is to imitate the benevolence of God to man ; 
and every study to do this is a religious contem- 
plation. 

Armstrong’s mind was so full of this subjeci, 
that when the darkness sent him in doors, he 
could not settle as usual to the Farmer’s Jour- 
nal. He stirred his evening fire, and played tne 
flute a little, and wound up his watch, and then, 
supposing he must be very tired with seeing 
company, he went early to bed. He did not 
sleep, directly, however ; he heard Margaret for 
some time murmuring to herself, as she often 
did when darning stockings alone : then she 
tried the fastenings of the doors and windows, 
raked out the fire, and went into her own room, 
where he heard her slip the bolt, as usual. The 
boasted security of the master'of this cottage did 
not prevent its inhabitants from using as many 
precautions against enemies 'as the richest mer- 
chant in London. Nor were these precautions 
needless. 

About three hours after, when^Armstrong was 
sound asleep, he began to dream very uncom- 
fortably of strange noises which he took to pro- 
ceed from the machinery of the iron-work, and 


6t THE HARM OF A WHIM. 

of a cold blast which proceeded from the fur- 
nace when he expected a hot one. This dream 
appeared to last very long, though it had in re- 
ality passed through his brain in a few moments ; 
at the end of which time he was completely 
roused by a creak and screech of the latticed 
window of his room, the cold air having blown 
upon him as it was opened. He started up and 
saw a man leaning in at the window as if on 
the point of entering. Armstrong seized the 
pistol he always kept by him and fired. The 
man retreated, but apparently not wounded ; 
for after some whisperings without, a dark form 
again appeared at the lattice, and others moved 
behind. 

‘ I will shoot as many of you as dare to come 
to the window,’ cried Armstrong with his loud- 
est voice. ‘ I am well armed, so show your- 
selves at your peril.’ 

He fired again, but the figure had the instant 
before retreated. On listening for a moment, 
Armstrong thought the thieves were gone round 
to attack some other point of entrance. He 
hastily closed the window, and upreared the 
chimney board against it, that he might at least 
hear if they returned to his chamber. He 


THE HARM OF A WHIM. 


65 • 


then thundered at Margaret’s door ; for which 
there was little occasion, as she was up and 
crying out to know what was the matter. 

‘Thieves; but not in the house; so make 
haste and get a light. 

This was presently done, and it then appear- 
ed that Margaret had as much courage as her 
master. She valiantly brandished the poker 
while he reloaded his pistols ; and they both 
made so much noise in the intervals of listen- 
ing, that unless the thieves were well informed 
that there were only two people in the house, 
they might have supposed there were half a 
dozen. It was impossible to find out whether 
they remained at hand or not. Windows and 
doors shook and rattled many times before day- 
light ; but whether acted upon by human hands 
or by the autumn night-wind, was never known. 

‘ Hark ! ’ was said by one or the other of the 
watchers perpetually, and they wandered from 
window to door and from door to window till 
dawn, and then very naturally started at their 
own shadows in the twilight. 

Upon examination, which they ventured at 
sunrise, footsteps were visible all round the cot- 
tage ; but there were no marks ofblood, of which 


66 the harm of a whim. 

Armstrong was glad, among other reasons, be* 
cause he detested the idea of a prosecution, and 
was willing that the thieves should escape pun- 
ishment, provided he could get over the affair 
quietly. 

‘ What do you mean to do next ? ’ Margaret 
ventured to ask when he had done ruminating 
over his breakfast. 

‘I have made up my mind,’ he replied, ‘ and 
I do not mean to change it. We are neither 
of us to say a syllable of what has happened.’ 

Margaret nodded, for this was what she ex- 
pected. 

' Can you fire a pistol Margaret ! ’ 

She had never tried, but she had no doubt she 
could. 

‘ Very well ; then you will do to stay with me, 
if you choose to comply with my conditions. If 
we tell what has happened, it will put it into oth- 
er people’s heads to attack us : and it will do 
no good to remove the chest, now that I have 
the reputation of having one. It must be for 
that they came. You and I will watch by turns 
this winter, one going to bed at dark to sleep 
till midnight, and then watching while the other 
sleeps till dawn. Now, Margaret, will you 
stay or go ? ’ 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


67 


Margaret asked a little time for consideiatioiij 
which was of course given. By dinner-time she 
was ready with her assent to the plan. Not 
many women would have given it; but attach- 
ment to her master and her office prevailed over 
the few fears she had : and the condition of 
silence would not be difficult to observe if, as 
she expected, she should see nobody for some 
months, unless indeed it should be the thieves 
themselves. 

Armstrong was again haunted with the idea 
that it would have been better to allow his gold 
to circulate so that it would be robbed of none 
of its value to himself, than to risk its being ob- 
tained by others in such a way as that he should 
ose the whole. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A GOLDEN HARVEST. 

The iron trade continued for some time after 
this to be so flourishing, that Mr. Wallace 
found himsel.^ at length quite unequal to the 


08 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


pressure of business which rested wholly on him. 
He wrote so repeatedly and urgently to Mr. 
Bernard on this subject, that that gentleman 
hastened the settlement of his affairs, that he 
might remove himself and his family into Mr. 
Wallace’s neighborhood. He owned that after 
his young partner had found the management 
of an iron-work with one furnace as much as 
he could manage, it was unreasonable to leave 
all the business to him when there were four, 
and when the demand for iron was so brisk that 
the utmost diligence could not enable them to an- 
swer all the orders they received. Instead of 
three hundred, upwards of eleven hundred labor- 
ers were now employed about the works. More 
and more capital was daily employed in the 
concern ; and it was abundantly supplied, as 
capital always is. where such speedy and proh- 
table returns are made as in the iron trade, at 
the time we speak of. Many a man who found 
himself getting on but slowly in a manufaciure 
of another kind, endeavored to obtain a share 
111 an iron-work Many a farmer threw up his 
farm, and went into South Wales to find a more 
profitable settlement. Many a capitalist with- 
drew his money from concerns in London, or 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


m 


elsewhere, where he h.'id received moderate in- 
terest for it, and invested it where the highest 
legal interest was willingly given. Even ladies 
who had small properties in the funds, transfer- 
red them to the hands of any iron-master they 
might happen to be acquainted with, and wei<i 
much delighted with their increase of income 
Some experienced people who observed thi? 
vast flow of capital towards one point, predicted 
unpleasant results. The immediate consequen- 
ces were agreeable enough, they allowed. Iron- 
works were established, wherever a promising 
situation could be found. Smokes arose from a 
hundred places among the hills where all before 
had been a mountain solitude. The cottages 
of well-paid laborers multiplied every day ; and 
prosperity seemed, at last, to have visited the 
working classes in an equal proportion with 
their masters. But the quantity of iron prepar- 
ed was so great that it seemed scarcely possible 
that the demand could long remain as brisk as 
it present. Any one who observed the trains 
of waggons on the rail-roads of the various 
works, or the traffic on the canals, or the ship- 
ments at Newport and Cardiff*, would have 
wondered where a market could be found for 


70 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


such a quantity of metal : but as long as the 
masters found it impossible to keep any stock 
by them, or even to supply their orders, they 
were very sanguine about the continuance of 
their prosperity, and went on fearlessly enlarging 
their works in number and extent, regardless of 
the warnings offered them that a glut must be 
the consequence. 

Mr. Wallace and his partners were more 
prudent than most of his neighbors. They 
were mindful enough of the probability of change 
to be careful how much they invested as fixed 
capital, which could not be easily withdrawn 
transferred in case of a change of times. 

Fixed capital, that is, money laid out in land, 
buildings, machinery, and tools, is a necessary 
part of the property of every one who endeavors 
to increase his wealth. The farmer must have 
not only land to produce grain, but ploughs and 
harrows to prepare the soil, sickles to reap the 
corn, waggons to carry it away, barns to store it 
in, &c., if he means to make the utmost profit 
he can of his produce. He thus increases his 
wealth by fixing his capital, though his tools and 
buildings and horses do not directly afford him 
any profit like his circulating capital. That 


A GOLDEN HARVEST 7i 

which is commonly called circulating capital is 
the wealth laid out with an immediate view to 
further production ; such as the farmer’s seed 
corn, and the wages of his laborers. But as 
nothing is said in the word circulating about this 
further production, we had rather find a better 
word. Rcproduceable seems to us the right term. 
Thus the manufacturer’s raw silk and cotton, the 
farmer’s seed-corn, or the sheep and oxen he 
intends to sell again, the iron-master’s coal and 
iron-stone, and that which is paid by all in the 
shape of wages, are rcproduceable capital, be- 
cause it comes back to its owner when it has 
fulfilled its purpose and procured a profit. It is 
clear that the business which requires the least 
fixed capital in proportion to the reproduceable 
capital must be the least in danger from a change 
of times. The w'ine-merchant, whose fixed cap- 
ital consists only of cellars, casks, hampers, and 
a cart and horses, has less of his wealth locked 
up in a useless form in bad times than the silk 
or cotton manufacturer, who has his factories, 
his steam-engine, and all the machinery con 
nected with it. Both may have a large stock, 
the one of wine, the other of raw or wrought 
silk or cotton ; both may complain of having 


72 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


their reproduceable capital made unproductive 
by a failure of demand ; but he is the worst off 
who has the largest portion of fixed capital lock- 
ed up at the same time. On a smaller scale, the 
basket maker risks less in bad times than the 
baker. The one has merely his shed, and his 
block, and knife, for his fixed — and osiers for his 
reproduceable, capital; while the other has his 
bakehouse, ovens, bins, yeast-pails, and many 
other articles as his fixed capital ; and flour and 
fuel for his reproduceable capital. If a demand 
for baskets and for bread should ever cease, the 
baker would have a much larger capital laid by 
useless than the basket-maker. 

A very large fixed capital is necessary in an 
iron-work, and of a kind too which cannot be 
turned to any other account in bad times. Land 
may generally be made to produce something 
which is in demand; sheds and waggons and 
horses may be used for a variety of purposes ; 
but blast-furnaces and forges serve no object but 
that for which they were erected. There is, 
therefore, a degree of risk in thus investing cap- 
ital which ought to make reflecting men very 
watchful in their calculations, and very cautious, 
in extending their works even in the best times 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


73 


Mr. Wallace and his partners were thus cau- 
tious, while some of their neighbors, flushed with 
the present prosperous state of their trade, erect- 
ed their works in magnificent style, and to such 
an extent that one would have thought they had 
a contract for supplying the world with iron for 
ever. The firm thought themselves justified in 
erecting new furnaces to the number we have 
mentioned; but a judicious economy was con- 
sulted in the mode of building ; an economy 
which was smiled at by many who appeared as 
lavish of money and fond of splendor in respect' 
of their furnaces, as of their dwelling-houses. 

Mr. Wallace’s impatience that his acting- 
partner should come and see and approve what 
was done, was at length gratified. A letter was 
received one day announcing that Mr. Bernard, 
his two sons, his three daughters, and their 
governess, would arrive to a late dinner on the 
next Wednesday. It was a winter day, and 
darkness had come on long before there *vere 
any tokens of the approach of the party. The 
house-keeper who came some time before, listen- 
ed to the blustering wind, and then looked at 
the clock, now trembling for the safety of her 
young masters and mistresses, and then vexed 


74 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


that her good dinner should be spoiled by the 
delay. Mrs. Wallace sent more than once to 
know whether the travellers had arrived. A 
crowd of little children, who had gathered to- 
gether, unmindful of the cold, to cheer the car- 
riage as soon as it appeared, were called home 
to bed by their mothers. The overlooker pro- 
nounced that there would be no arrival that eve- 
ning, and every body at last hoped there would 
not, as the roads among the hills were very wild 
and dreary, and morning was the best time to 
pass along them. The travellers were approach- 
ing, however, all this time. The last stage was 
a very irksome one to horses and driver, and 
not very pleasant to those inside. No care 
could keep out the cold wind which obliged the 
driver to tie on his hat, and which terrified the 
child of three years old, who hid her face in her 
papa’s bosom every time the gust roared among 
the hills. Another little girl pressed close to her 
governess, and the lads themselves wished that 
it had not been so dark ; for it was impossible 
to keep the lamps lighted. Their father and 
Mrs. Sydney — the lady who educated their sis- 
ters — tried to amuse them by talking cheerfully ; 
but whenever they stopped for a moment, somr: 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


75 


little voice was sure to ask ‘ How far have we to 
go now?’ ‘Shall we get home to-night?’ 

‘ How late will it be when we get home ? ’ 

‘ How dark, how very dark it is ! ’ cried Fran- 
cis. ‘ I cannot make out whether there is a hill 
on each side of us, or whether it is the black 
sky.’ 

‘ It is the sky,’ said his brother John. ‘ I see 
a fiery flush on this side, which I suppose comes 
from some iron-work near. How it brightens 
every moment ! ’ 

‘Ah ha ! we shall have light enough present- 
ly,' said his father. ‘We are nearer home than 
I thoucrht. That liorht comes from behind the 

o o 

hill, and when we reach the turn of the road, we 
shall see a good fire, though we shall not feel 
one this half hour.’ 

Ill a moment the carriage turned the corner, 
and the children started up, forgetting cold and 
hunger and fear, to gaze at the extraordinary 
scene before them. Strange sounds rose when 
the gust fell — a roaring like that of a mighty 
wind, which their father told them was caused 
by the blast of the furrfaces ; and a hissing and 
rumbling which came from the machinery of the 
forge and mill. These buildings stood on a 


76 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


level beneath a sort of terrace, faced with stone, 
on which were placed the kilns where the iron- 
stone is calcined ready to be put in at the top 
of the furnace. On this terrace also was the 
coke-hearth, where the coal was burning in a 
long ridge open to the sky. The flame blazed 
and flickered, and shot up in red and white 
spires, and disappeared and kindled again, as 
the wind rose and fell ; and there were black 
figures of men, brandishing long rakes, some- 
times half hidden by red smoke, and sometimes 
distinctly marked against a mass of flame. At 
some distance were rows of twinkling lights al- 
most too faint to be seen after looking at the 
furnaces. These were in the cottages of the 
work-people. Further off, was a solitary light, 
so far raised as to give the idea that it came from 
a house on a hill. The children eagerly asked 
if this light shone from their home. No ; it 
must be Mr. Wallace’s house; but their own 
really was near now. Accordingly, when they 
had passed another reach of the road in utter 
darkness, and had heard a gate swing and knew 
by the crashing sound that the carriage was on 
a gravel road, they saw an open hall-door, and 
knew the figure of the housekeeper as she stood 
ready to welcome them. 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


77 


The children grew sleepy as they grew warm, 
and forgot the irksomeness of their journey ; 
and having made a good supper from what was 
to have been dinner, they crept to their beds and 
were presently asleep. 

Mr. Wallace arrived before breakfast, and was 
over the next morning to welcome his partner 
and accompany him down to the works. He 
brought a message from his wife that she hoped 
to call on Mrs. Sydney and the young ladies 
during the forenoon. Accordingly, soon after 
the gentlemen were gone, the little carriage 
drawn by a brace of sleek ponies, and containing 
this elegant young personage wrapped up in 
furs, appeared before the door. Mrs. Wallace’s 
extreme shyness infected the young people, who 
were just of an age to be reserved with stran- 
gers ; and Mrs. Sydney, who was always at her 
ease, found it very difficult to maintain the con- 
versation. Mrs. Wallace had seen no one, high 
or low, in the neighborhood, except Mr. Arm- 
strong. She did not appear interested in the 
manufacture going on before her eyes. She ad- 
mired those parts of the country which remain- 
ed green and wild, and this appeared the only 
subject on which she had any thing to say. 


78 


A GOLDDN HARVEST. 


Mrs. Sydney's chief interest was respecting the 
eleven hundred people, and the families to which 
they belonged, who were placed in such near 
neighborhood ; but she presently found that she 
must learn all that she wanted to know of them 
for herself, instead of being guided by the lady 
who had lived among them for so many months. 

While Mrs. Wallace was blushing and rising 
from her seat preparatory to taking her leave, 
the gentlemen returned. They had come to 
propose that, as it was a clear, calm day, the 
party should view the works and become ac- 
quainted at once with the place and people 
among wdiom they were to live. Mrs. Wal- 
lace drew back, evidently wishing to be excused; 
hut her husband urged that it was a good oppor- 
tunity for doing what she could not be expect- 
ed to do while she had no lady-companion ; and 
Mrs. Sydney seemed to think the proceeding 
so very desirable as well as pleasant, that it w^as 
soon agreed that the whole party should go to- 
gether and on foot ; the curricle being sent 
away with orders to return for its mistress in 
two hours. 

Mr. Wallace explained how the iron-stone, 
or mine, as it is called, is calcined in the kiln 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


79 


upon the terrace which we have described. He 
showed how this substance, cleansed in the kiln 
from clay and other impurities, is put into thf' 
furnace at the top with the coke and limestone 
which are burned with it, the coke to keep the 
whole burning, and the limestone to unite with 
the mixtures of the ironstone, so that the ore 
may be separated pure. They saw the filler at 
his stand near the top of the furnace, — at the 
tunnel-head, as it is called, pouring in at the 
doors the materials which were furnished from 
the terrace. They saw the furnace-keeper be- 
low, as intent upon his work as if his life de- 
pended on it, watching the appearance of the 
cinder as it was thrown off, and regulating the 
blast accordingly, or making signals to the filler 
above respecting the quantities of different ma- 
terials that he was to put into the furnace. He 
took no notice of any body being by, and never 
looked up or spoke or changed countenance. 

‘ How intent that man is on his business ! ' 
said Mrs. Sydney to Mr. Bernard. ‘ I sup- 
pose his office is a very important one.’ 

‘ Very important indeed. The quality of the 
iron produced by this furnace depends mainly 
on his care. It may be, and often is ruined 


80 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


without his being able to help it or even know- 
ing why ; but it would certainly be spoiled with- 
out incessant care on his part.’ 

‘ Is it from pure fear of spoiling his work that 
he is so engrossed with it, or are his wages reg- 
ulated by the produce of the furnace ? ’ 

‘ We find so much depend on the care of the 
men who break the limestone and prepare the 
coke, and burn the mine, and fill and keep the 
furnace, that they are all paid by the ton of iron 
produced, in order to secure their mutual help 
and the proper regulation of the whole.’ 

‘ Well, I should be sorry if this man should 
suffer by the carelessness of any of the people 
overhead; fori never saw anything more per- 
fect than his own attention.’ 

‘He is an extraordinary man,’ said Mr. Wal- 
lace, who stood within hearing. ‘ I cannot dis- 
cover the motive to such indefatigable industry 
and frugality as his. He has worked his way up 
in a few months from being one of our lowest 
order of laborers to his present situation. He 
was a beggar when we first set him to work ir 
excavating the tunnel , and he looks like a beg- 
gar still, though he accomplishes more work and 
.ays by more m^nev than any man amoncr our 
neonb' ’ 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


8J 


‘ I wondered to see him so ill-dressed,’ ob- 
served Mr. Bernard. 

‘ I told him yesterday,’ said Mr. Wallace, 
‘ that I expected to see him decently clothed, 
knowing, as I did, that he earned a great deal 
of money, and laid it all by in the Monmouth 
Savings’ Bank, except what is barely sufficieni 
to procure him shelter and daily food.’ 

‘ Has he neither wife nor family to support ? ' 

‘ He seems not to have a relation or acquaint- 
ance in the world. He speaks to nobody but 
the overlooker and myself.’ 

‘ And what sort of intercourse have you with 
him ? ’ 

‘ I converse with him as often as we can both 
spare time, and always with pleasure ; for he is 
well, I might say highly, educated, and has the 
speech and manners of a gentleman.’ 

‘ How strange ! And do not you know where 
he comes from, and what brought him ? ' 

‘ I know nothing of him but that he is a ge- 
nius and a miser — two characters which are rare- 
ly seen united. Paul keeps his own counsei 
so perfectly as to who he is and whence he 
comes, that my curiosity is very strongly excit- 
ed, and I would take some pains to get at the 


8*2 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


bottom of the mystery, if I did not feel that eve- 
ry man has a right to his own secret. He is an 
industrious and faithful servant to me, and that is 
all I have any business with.’ 

Mrs. Sydney ventured so far as to put a ques- 
tion to Paul ; but he was just going to tap the 
furnace, i. e. to let out the fused iron, — a very 
important operation, — and was therefore too 
busy to answer her. 

‘ I will bring you together after working-hours 
some day,’ whispered Mr. Wallace to her. ‘ If 
we should meet him taking his ramble on a Sun- 
day, or when, as now and then happens, Ave put 
somebody into his place to relieve him for a day, 
he will be more disposed for conversation than 
now. He is sociable enough when he falls in 
with any one whom he thinks worthy of being 
talked to.’ 

‘ I am afraid we shall be quite looked down 
upon by such a high and mighty personage,' 
said Mrs. Sydney, laughing. But Mr. Wallace 
promised to draw him out. 

The party then proceeded to the relinery 
where the pig-iron is refined, and to the forge 
and mill where it is formed into bars. They 
saw the refiners take it by turns to run out their 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


83 


moulds of metal ; and the weigher, who exam- 
ines their work and keeps an account of it; and 
the puddler at the forge who improves the qual- 
ity of the metal by another refining process ; 
and the shingler who hammers the balls of metal 
into an oblong form for going through the roll ; 
and the roller and his catcher who stand on each 
side of the rolling machine, and put the bar in- 
to a smaller roll every time it is handed from one 
to the other ; and the slraighteners who straight- 
en the bars while they are hot, and mark them 
with the stamp of the works where they are 
made ; and the har~weighers who examine the 
finished work; and the clerks and superintend- 
ents who conduct the whole. The youths were 
as much struck as the ladies with the grandeur 
of the scale on which the manufacture was car- 
ried on, and with the ingenuity of the contriv- 
ances for aiding and saving labor. 

‘ What a sum of money must have been laid 
out here! ’ cried Francis. 

‘ And what a quantity of labor that money 
has brought into operation!’ observed Mrs. 
Sydney. 

*Yes, but there is nothing so very remarkable 
u seeing eleven hundred people at work, as in 
F 


84 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


observing what comes of such an outlay of cap- 
ital.’ 

‘ It was not merely the labor of eleven hun- 
dred pairs of hands that I was speaking of,’ re- 
plied Mrs, Sydney, ‘but of the hoarded labor 
which does what no unassisted human hands 
could do ; the shears and the rollers, and all the 
complicated machinery which enables us to treat 
iron as if it were wood or clay. I suppose, Mr. 
•Wallace, you are free from complaints about 
the use of machinery ; as your works are of a 
kind which cannot be done by hand?’ 

‘ At present we hear no complaints,’ replied 
Mr. W allace, ‘ because trade is good and wages 
are high, and the great object with us all is to 
prepare as much metal as machines and men can 
get ready. But if times should change, I am 
afraid we should suffer as cotton and silk man- 
ufacturers do. We should be told of this pro- 
cess, and that, and another, which might be ef- 
fected with less machinery and more labor. 
Rolling and clipping must be done by wood 
and iron, because no bone and muscle are equal 
to such work ; but there is much labor in pre- 
paring limestone, stacking and loading the 
mine, and other processes in which we shall be 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


S5 


assisted by machinery hereafter; and then } ex- 
pect an olitcry against such an employment of 
capital, though it must produce good to all in 
the end.’ 

‘To be sure,’ said Mrs. Sydney. ‘These 
works would never have existed in their present 
flourishing state but for the improvements in the 
manufacture of iron ; and if they are to be yet 
more flourishing a hundred years hence, it must 
be by further improvements.’ 

‘ Such improvements are much wanted, I as- 
sure you ; for we have much to learn before the 
iron manufacture becomes nearly as perfect as 
many others in the kingdom. The silk and 
cotton manufactures are less difficult and haz- 
ardous, and are more improved than ours. So, 
Francis, you must have your wits about you, 
and be always thinking what alterations for the 
better must be made when the times change : for 
we cannot expect our present prosperity to last 
for ever.’ 

‘ I see great heaps of cinders that appear to 
be wasted,’ said Francis. ‘Look at that one 
which is more like a mountain than a pile of fur- 
nace-refuse. Can no use be made ofit.^’ 

‘ That is a question which I have asked my- 


86 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


self a hundred times,’ replied Mr. Wallace: 

‘ and I bear the thing in mind to be considered 
when the demand for iron slackens, as I sup- 
pose it will some time or other. Now our at- 
tention is fully occupied in supplying our cus- 
tomers by the usual methods, and there is no 
leisure for trying experiments, and little need of 
new methods of economy. They will come 
with a change of times.’ 

‘ What is to be done with these people of 
yours, when those days come .? ’ asked Mrs. 
Sydney. ‘ When I look at the ranges of cotta- 
ges, and see how many children are playing be- 
fore the doors, I wonder whether it will always 
be easy to maintain so increasing a population.' 

Mr. Wallace told her that it was his constant 
endeavor to impress upon his people that it is 
the duty of well-paid laborers to become capi- 
talists if they can, as a security against a reverse 
of fortune. The difficulty he always found was 
to persuade them that the earnings which are 
only enough to maintain them for a few days 
may, by being properly disposed of, be made 
sufficient for the maintenance of years. He 
wished his laborers to furnish themselves and 
their families in the first place with food, cloth- 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


87 


ing, and habitation, and then to put out at in- 
terest, or invest in some other profitable way, 
tlieir surplus wages, that they might have some- 
thing with which to begin a new employment, 
in case of their present work being taken from 
them. Some had attended to his advice and 
some had not. Some had money in the Mon- 
mouth Savings’ Bank, which was a good way. 
Some laid out their earnings in stocking a little 
shop at the iron-work, which was kept by their 
wives and children. This was also a very good 
plan. Some laid by their notes and silver in a 
stocking or a glove in their own cupboard, which 
was a safe method enough, but not so good as 
one which would have made the money profita- 
ble. Others spent the whole as it came in, 
which was the worst plan of all. 

Some who had several children growing up, 
had them taught different trades, that there might 
be a resource for the family in case of one trade 
failing. There could be no better way of em- 
ploying money than this, for it was sure of a re- 
turn in the profitable industry of the young peo 
pie, — a return which would be afforded exactly 
when it was most needed. It also yielded an 
immediate return, not the less valuable because 


68 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


it could not be estimated in gold and silver, — 
the peace of mind which arose from the consid- 
eration that all the resources of the family could 
not be cut off at once, and that if some were 
thrown out of employment, there would be oth- 
ers in a condition to help them. 

All that Mrs. Sydney heard made her wish to 
begin an acquaintance with the families of the 
work-people. She proposed that the party 
should return by way of their dwellings. Mr. 
Wallace gave his arm to his wife, who had been 
,;in conversation with Mr. Bernard, and they all 
set forward. Mrs. Wallace envied Mrs. Sydney 
the ease and kindness of manner with which she 
conversed with people of all classes. The dif- 
ference between them, was that the one was 
Ignorant of the habits and manners of all ranks 
except her own, and that the other had mixed 
. with each in turn, and was therefore familiar 
with whatever concerned them. Both were 
generous and kind-hearted, though they showed 
their kindness in different ways. Mrs. Wallace 
would have given away all she had to a neigh- 
bor in want; but when her neighbors, as now, 
were not in want, she was at a loss to express 
ner good-will, while Mrs. Sydney, by merely 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


89 


conversing with them, made herself liked by 
them without trying to do so, or ever thinking 
of any thing beyond satisfying her own kind in- 
terest. 

Mr. Wallace had thought that Paul worked 
too hard ; and as he was anxious to make inqui- 
ries of Paul’s host about his health, he conduct- 
ed the party to the cottage of John Jones, with 
whom Paul lodged. Jones was out, but his 
wife was within, preparing dinner for herself and 
two of her younger children who were playing 
beside her. She thought like Mr. Wallace, 
that Paul had grown thin lately, and was not so 
strong as formerly ; and she did not wonder, 
considering how little food and sleep he took. 
She never saw any body so sparing of both or 
so eager after money. She had no reason to 
complain, she said ; for he paid her for his lodg- 
ing exactly and regularly every Saturday night; 
but it did make her sorry to see him work so 
hard and allow himself so few comforts. — He 
was up at four, summer and winter, doing his 
tailoring and cobling work, and would sit from 
six till eleven in the evening, cutting corks when 
he had nothing more profitable to do. 

Mr. Wallace looked astonished, for he had no 


90 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


notion that Paul had been a Jack-of-all-trades 
Mrs. Jones explained that he seemed able to 
learn any employment he chose when the in- 
ducement of money was set before him. With 
the first wages he had earned at the works, he 
purchased a tailor’s and cobbler’s implements, 
and patched and cobbled for half the neighbor- 
hood at his leisure hours. He still complained 
that he had not enough to do, and went to the 
next town to look for some employment which 
he might bring home. He brought a package 
of cork on his back and a cork-cutter’s knife in 
his pocket, and for many and many a gross had 
he received payment from the druggist and oth- 
ers of the new town, and even of Newport. 
The same bench and the same dirty clothes 
served him for his cobbling and his cork-cutting : 
and another advantage of the latter employment 
was, that a very little light would serve his pur- 
pose. He usually burned a farthing candle at 
hours when he could not have the advantage of 
the Jones’s lamp. 

Mrs. Jones showed her guests how neatly 
Paul had partitioned off half his little room to 
serve as a workshop : the inner half, where he 
slept, and kept his few clothes, was as neat and 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


91 


orderly as possible ; for Paul always said that 
there was good economy in cleanliness and 
order. The workshop also was kept as tidy as 
the nature of things allowed. 

Mr. Wallace was surprised to see a very 
pretty picture placed against the wall of the in- 
ner room, and covered with a piece of muslin 
to keep it from the dust. It had no frame, but 
appeared a good painting. It seemed to be the 
likeness of a boy, handsome and well dressed, 
with a hoop in his hand and a greyhound beside 
him. The back-ground was a park, with deer 
grazing, and a mansion seen among the trees. 

Mrs. Jones said this picture had a very ele- 
gant frame when Paul first put it up in his room, 
but that he had, after looking at it very often 
and for a long time together, taken off the frame 
and carried it with him when he went to the 
fair to sell his cattle. 

His cattle ! What cattle ? 

He seemed to be a very good judge of cattle, 
and had managed to buy a cow and two or 
three sheep which he had sold to advantage at 
the last fair. It had been curious to observe 
his caution in his calculations. He sat on his 
bench with a piece of chalk beside him, reckon- 


92 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


ing and reckoning his sums in the intervals of 
his work, till it seemed as if all his thoughts 
were engaged on numbers. The same process 
had begun again now ; so the Jones’s conclud- 
ed he was going to buy and sell more cattle. 

Mrs. Sydney inquired whether he was a 
pleasant inmate and a kind neighbor. So far as 
he was sober and regular, Mrs. Jones replied, 
he was a valuable lodger ; but he did not often 
speak or smile at the children ; which would, 
she said, have been the best way of gaining her. 
He took no notice of the neighbors, whether 
they laughed at him for a miser, or whether he 
might have laughed in his turn at their petitions 
for a loan of money. Altogether, those who 
cared for Paul had as much sorrow as comfort 
on his account ; for if it was a pleasant thing to 
see one who was once a beggar acquiring prop- 
erty every day, it was a sad thought that he 
could not enjoy his earnings reasonably, but 
pinched himself with want and care as much as 
if he had still been a beggar. 

‘ However,’ added Jones’s wife, ‘ I have no 
right to find fault with his way of disposing of 
his wages any more than my neighbors have 
with mine. If I complain of their laughing at 


A GOLDEN HARVEST. 


93 


me and my liusband, Paul may complain of my 
finding fault with him. Only he does not mind 
these things as I do.’ 

In explanation of this, Mr. Wallace told his 
companions that the Jones’s were ridiculed by 
some of their neighbors for not getting employ- 
ment for all their children at the iron-work, 
which would make the family quite rich at pres- 
ent. Instead of doing this, at the risk of being 
all out of work at once by and by, the parents 
had chosen to apprentice one of their boys to a 
shoemaker at Newport, and another to a smith, 
while only one was employed on the works. 
The neighbors boasted that no expenses of ap- 
prenticeship were likely to fall on them, while at 
the same time they were earning more than 
Jones’s family would ever be making at one 
time ; and were continually urging that the 
young shoemaker should be brought home to be 
made a catcher, and the little smith to be a 
straightener. 

‘ Keep to your own plan, I advise you,’ said 
Mr. Bernard. ‘ If you do not repent it now, 
you never will ; for there can scarcely be better 
days for our works, and there will probably be 


worse. 


94 


MANY WAYS OF 


Mrs. Wallace had all this time been playing 
with the children ; for she was not afraid of 
them. She had let the little one hide its face in 
her muff, and had listened while the older one 
told hei how mammy let her help to make the 
bed, and how she was learning to hem her own 
pinafore, and how she could thread a needle for 
Mr. Paul when he was mending a coat. Mrs. 
Wallace had been laughing with the children, 
but looked so grave the instant their mother 
turned round, that Jones’s wife'thought she was 
offended with the little ones, and chid them for 
their freedom, so that they went and hid them- 
selves. This was all a mistake ; but it was no 
fault of Mrs. Jones’, for she could not possibly 
suppose the lady liked to be treated with free- 
dom while she looked so grave upon it and said 
nothing. 


CHAPTER V. 

MANY WAYS OF STORING A CROP. 

When the spring advanced, it was observed 
by many people that Armstrong had not been 
at church for several Sundays. He had been 


STORING A CROP. 


95 


seen, alive and well, during the week-days, by 
many people ; so there were no apprehensions 
about him ; but Mr. Wallace was so curious to 
know the reason of his absence, that he inquir- 
ed very particularly of Mr. Hollins, whom he 
often met. 

‘ He has become a great theologian,’ replied 
Mr. Hollins. ‘ He tells me that he now studies 
his Bible and religious books for six hours out 
of the twenty-four. I cannot think how he 
manages it, for his garden looks as well as usu- 
al, and we play the flute as formerly, only he 
sends me away somewhat earlier in the evenings. 
1 tell him I shall appear at his window some 
night when the clock strikes twelve, to see if 
he is at his books then.’ 

‘Take care how you do that, Mr. Hollins. 
He will shoot you for a thief. But has his stu- 
dy of the Bible made him leave off going to 
church ? Such a pursuit generally leads the 
other way.’ 

‘ He says he was always fond of worshipping 
in the open air, as Adam and Eve did ; and he 
finds so much in the Bible about the multitudes 
being collected in the wilderness to hear the 
word, that haviiiff an opportunity just now of 


96 


MANY WAYS OF 


doing the same, he is disposed to try this new, 
or, as he says, very ancient method. Now, there 
IS a company of Ranters near, who preach 
among the hills about two miles off ; and he at- 
tends their ministry every Sunday morning.’ 

‘One would think,’ replied Mr. Wallace, 
‘ that he has read nothing of synagogues in the 
Bible, or of the Christians assembling under a 
loof for worship. However, it matters little 
where a pious heart pays its devotions ; and 
Armstrong’s worship, pure and sincere, I 
doubt not will be acceptable, whether it rises 
from the hill-side or the house of prayer. Do 
you know how he likes his new practice ^ ’ 

‘ He complains terribly of the psalm-tunes 
being new-fangled and difficult to sing ; but he 
enjoys having so much space to sing in, and 
likes all the rest of the service very well, except 
now and then when he would fain dispute a 
knotty point with the preachers.’ 

‘ And how do the preachers like him ?’ 

‘ They are no respecters of persons, you 
know ; but they are naturally pleased at having 
made such a convert, and never forget the ob- 
servance due to his age. I perceive he is al- 
ways seated in a sheltered place on a windy 


STORING A CROP. 


97 


day, and that pains are taken to furnish him with 
the hymns, and to make the service perfectly 
audible to him. All this^ is natural and right 
enough, and he has no objection to it.’ 

‘ You speak as if you went sometimes.’ 

‘I do ; and it would be worth while your go- 
ing once or twice, to witness the Sunday cus- 
toms of your people ; for a great number attend 
these Ranters.’ 

It was curious enough that Mr. Wallace’s 
curricle came in sight of the mountain-path 
which led off from the road to the Ranter’s place 
of meeting, just when Armstrong and Mr. Hol- 
lins were turning into it. They stopped at the 
sound of the carriage. 

* I wish,’ said Mr. Hollins, ‘ that you w'oirld 
allow me to drive Mrs. Wallace, while you go 
with our good friend to the church he likes best.’ 

‘Make haste, either way,’ said Armstrong, 

‘ for we are full late, I am afraid.’ 

In a moment the gentlemen had changed 
places, and Mr. Wallace was striding along the 
rough pathj trying to keep up with his vigorous 
old friend. 

%■ 

They were full late. The silence, preparato- 
ry to opening the service, was so profound, that 


98 


MANY WAYS Of 


Mr. Wallace was taken by surprise, when a sud- 
den turn brought them into the presence of a 
thousand people, seated in ranks upon the 
grass, in a recess between two hills. A few idle 
boys w'ere playing hide-and-seek among the 
furze bushes on the ridge of the hill, and some 
spectators walked slowly round the outskirts of 
the congregation ; but all besides was as still as 
in a church at the time of prayer. Tt seemed as 
if the service had been delayed for Armstrong ; 
for as soon as he and his companion had taken 
the seat which had evidently been reserved, a 
movement took place in the waggon, which 
served for a pulpit, and a man stood up to ad- 
dress the assembled hearers. 

This man explained, that owing to the illness 
of the preacher who usually conducted the ser- 
vice, that duty devolved upon himself, who had 
hitherto taken only a very humble part in the of- 
fices of the day. He trusted that the word of 
grace would be acceptable, from whatever lips 
it came ; and had, therefore, taken u])on him 
the preacher^s office, rather than dismiss them 
without their accustomed worship. 

‘ This person,’ whispered Armstrong, ‘ is 
more fit to preach than many a trained clergy- 


STORING A CROP. 


99 


niau if I may judge by what I have heard. He 
geneially acts only as clerk ; but I once heard 
an address from him, which makes me very glad 
of an opportunity of hearing him again.’ 

Mr. Wallace was in too much astonishment 
to reply, for this man was Paul. 

This remarkable fact being once established, 
nothing very surprising followed; for Mr. Wal- 
lace knew enough of Paul to suppose that his 
service would be, as it proved, very good. He 
only could not help guessing what the subject 
of his sermon would be, and hoping that his 
text would be, ‘ Lay not up for yourselves treas- 
ures upon earth.’ It was, however, one from 
which Paul could preach with more propriety: 
‘ Thou shalt not steal.’ 

It was now Armstrong’s turn to do something 
which appeared strange. He started when the 
text was given out, and listened with extraordi- 
nary eagerness for some time. At length, when 
the preacher began to describe the pangs of 
conscience which disturb the thief, even while 
no human eye has seen, and no human heart 
suspected, his guilt, Armstrong rose, mounted 
the waggon, took his stand beside the preacher, 

and looked again and again round the assembled 
G 


100 


MANY WAYS OF 


liearers, shading his eyes with his hand, and 
gazing as if he would read every countenance. 
Paul himself paused for an instant, and looked 
surprised ; but probably supposed, like Mr. 
Wallace, that it was merely a whim of the old 
man’s. It was no whim ; and the accidental 
choice of this text and subject was a fortunate 
circumstance for Armstrong’s peace of mind ; 
for he was now firrnly convinced that none of 
those with whom he was accustomed to worship 
on the Lord’s-day, were those who had invaded 
his repose and his property by night. Preju- 
diced as he was against all that was done, and 
against every body concerned in the iron-works, 
he had always suspected that the thieves came 
from a different quarter, and that there were 
persons better informed than any of Mr. Wal- 
lace’s laborers of the extent of his wealth and 
the place where it was deposited. 

Mr. Wallace watched what Paul would do 
when the service was over and the people were 
dispersing. He took not the slightest. notice of 
any body by word or sign, but stood leaning 
against a tree with his arms folded, following 
the groups with his eye as they parted off among 
the hills. As the last of them disappeared, Mr 


STORING A CROP. 


10 , 


Wallace and his companion approached the 
preacher and thanked him for his service, and 
asked if he was about to proceed homewards. 
He was, and they took the same path in compa- 
ny- 

‘You speak so seldom,’ said Mr. Wallace to 
Paul, ‘ that 1 suppose you think a great deal , 
and the society we live in gives a reflective man 
much to think about.’ 

‘ Indeed it does,’ replied Paul. ‘ We speak 
of society as one thing, and regard men in the 
mass ; but what a variety of interests there is 
among them ! Scarcely any two find their 
chief satisfaction in the same pursuit ; and it is 
this which makes it so difficult to get at the 
hearts of men. For instance, there might be 
two or three who would be interested in the 
subject of my sermon, but how many more would 
feel they had no concern in it ! What is the 
use and what the interest of such an address to 
yourself and Mr. Armstrong, or to any others 
who are thoroughly honest, or placed out of the 
reach of temptation to steal ? ’ 

‘ Its interest seemed to be very great to Arm- 
strong,’ observed Mr. Wallace. 

‘ As an observer,’ added Paul. ‘ He looked 


lO-i 


MANY WAYS OF 


to see how other people were affected by it, 
which is a very different thing from being him- 
self affected. I was surprised at his eagerness 
too.’ 

Armstrong made no other reply than a smile 
to the inquiring looks of his companions. Paul 
proceeded. 

‘ We should each have a sermon to ourselves, 
and one every day of the week, if preaching is 
to balance its power against the other powers 
which act upon us. There is Jones, my host ; 
he is always thinking about establishing his sons 
well in the world ; that is his chief interest. As 
for his wife, she is taken up with making her 
husband comfortable and cherishing her babies.’ 

‘ What sort of a sermon would you preach to 
them } ’ 

‘ I could only tell them what they feel already 
— that the pure in heart are blessed. If any 
pursuits are pure, theirs are ; and if any people 
are blessed, they are this day, with their good, 
promising children about them, and love and 
comfort within their door. Then there are 
their neighbors, the Davisons ; their pleasures 
are of a very different kind, — a glass of spirits 
each at the end of the day, and a debauch at 


STORING A CROP. 


103 


the fair as often as they can get there. I would 
preach a very short sermon to them. I would 
send them trooping, bag and baggage, instead 
of letting them corrupt the morals and laugh at 
the sobriety of their neighbors, and waste the 
capital which they ought to employ for the good 
of society. The money they lay out in gin and 
gaming would stock a shop.’ 

‘ And w’bat sort of a sermon would you preach 
to me, Paul ? ’ asked Armstrong , ‘ and what is 
my chief interest ? ’ 

‘ Your chief interest is yourself, and therefore 
my sermon would be a pretty severe one,’ an- 
swered Paul. ‘ But it is a harmless, good-na- 
tured self, so I would make allowance. But I 
can’t forgive your great sin against society.’ 

‘You mean my living by myself.’ 

‘ Live where you please : but how do you 
justify it to yourself to share the benefits of so- 
ciety when you do nothing in return? You 
enjoy the fruits of the labor and capital of oth- 
ers, — you drink your tea from the East Indies 
and your coffee from the West; you read your 
newspaper, which is the production of a hun > 
dred brains and pair of hands ; you — ’ 

‘ But I pay for all I use.’ 


104 


MANY WAYS OF 


‘ You do, because you could have nothing 
without; but not a single service do you render 
to society that you could avoid, while the means 
are hourly within your reach. Every man in 
society ought to belong to one class of pro- 
ducers or the other, or to stimulate production 
by useful though unproductive labor. You are 
not like the laborer who adds to his employer’s 
capital, nor yet like the capitalist, who, assistea 
by the laborer, increases the resources of socie- 
ty ; nor yet like the professional man, who, by 
improving the social state, opens new demands 
for the comforts and pleasures of life. You 
would be a better citizen if you were a surgeon 
in the next town, or a partner in this concern, 
or the humblest laborer about the works.’ 

‘You would preach to me from the parable 
of the talents, I suppose ? ’ 

‘Exactly so. You understand your own 
case, I see. I should tell you that the unprofit- 
able servant might be a man of very fine tastes. 
He might be a star-gazer, or a musician, or a 
politician, or particularly fond of gardening ; 
but he would still be an unprofitable servant 
while he hid the money committed to him. It 


STORING A CROP 


105 


matters little whether it was in a napkin under 
the ground or in a chest under the bed.’ 

Mr. Wallace seeing that Armstrong looked 
troubled, asked Paul how he would set about 
lecturing him, 

‘ I have less fault to find with you than with 
most people,’ replied Paul, who put such per- 
fect good-humor into his manner that it was al- 
most impossible to be offended with his free- 
dom. ‘Your chief interest is, — what it ought 
to be, — your lady : and next to her, the pros- 
perity of the people about you. This latter you 
understand well, and manage wisely.’ 

‘ And not the former ? ’ 

‘ I think you will wish, some time or other, 
that rather less of your expenditure had been of 
the unproductive kind. I know you are too 
much ot a man of principle to spend the whole 
income of a fluctuating capital in an unproduc- 
tive manner i but I should like to see fewer 
ponies and grooms and lady’s maids, and furs, 
and cachemires, and similar luxuries.’ 

‘Surely,’ said Mr. Wallace, ‘when my in- 
come IS the fruit of my own capital, and my 
own exertions in employing it, I may fairly in- 
dulge my wife and myself in a few luxuries 
which I can well aflbrH.’ 


106 


MANY WAYS OF 


‘ Very fairly. The only question is, to what 
extent. If you think it probable that you will 
continue to enrich society by the accuinulation 
of your capital in any proportion whatever, you 
are justified in laying out the rest of your income 
as you and your lady please. But if less pros- 
perous days should come, and you must employ 
more capital for a less return, your lady may 
find it a harder thing to walk than if she had 
never had a carriage, and to dress her own hair 
than if she had kept her hand in all this time.’ 

Mr. Wallace could not help smiling at Paul’s 
business-like way of speaking of a lady’s toilet. 
Paul saw that he gave no offence, and went on. 

‘ Mr. Bernard’s family seem to me to have 
found the right medium. The lads show, by 
the way they set about learning their business, 
that they have been used to put their souls into 
their pursuits ; and the young ladies and Mrs. 
Sydney were out on foot every day during the 
winter in their cloth cloaks and stout shoes, ami 
they seldom went back without carrying a bless- 
ing with them. Not that they gave alms. No- 
body here wants any, thank Heaven ! and if any 
one did, Mrs. Sydney knows there is no real 
kindness in giving away money as alms. Bui 


STORING A CROP. 


107 


they attached the people to them, and put them 
in the way of managing better, and helped to 
keep up good-will among neighbours, and in- 
cited many a one to industry by proper encour- 
agement. These are the personal services the 
rich are called upon to render ; and to this Mr. 
Bernard adds an expenditure which can never 
be repented of. I was in his drawing-room 
once, and I saw at a glance the nature of his 
luxuries.’ 

‘ What did you see ?’ 

‘ Every thing that was useful and comfortable 
in the way of furniture, and ail that was hand- 
some and genteel in the dress of the ladies. 
But I was more struck wdth the books, and the 
alobes, and the musical instruments, and the 
pictures.’ 

‘ Then you do not object to all luxuries ’ 

‘ 0 dear, no. Whatever helps to inform the 
mind and to improve the taste is a proper object 
of pursuit to those who can afford it. It is a 
productive expenditure in a very high sense. 
Mr. Bernard will, I hope, live to see a fine re- 
turn for the money he spends on his library, in 
the talent and knowledge which his sons will 
employ in the service of society. And the ac- 


108 


MANY WAYS OF 


complishments of his daughters will not only 
increase the domestic pleasures of all connect- 
ed with them, but stimulate production, if you 
will have the whole matter before you. Harps 
and pianos are made up of labor and capital, as 
much as pig-iron.’ 

‘What a romantic lover you would make! ’ 
said Mr. Wallace, laughing. ‘ What a strange 
figure you would cut in high life, if you carried 
your method of reasoning into an exalted sta- 
tion ! ’ 

‘ If more men did so,’ said Paul with a deep 
sigh ; ‘ if, while the great are possessed of their 
grandeur, they thought as much of its sources 
as when they are stripped of it, there would be 
a more just gradation of ranks than there is ; 
there wmuld be no starving paupers on the steps 
of a palace ; there would be no excess in the 
highest, or riot in the lowest classes of society. 
The w'orst faults of the extremes of society 
would be done away, if those extremes were 
brought nearer together. If the rich were more 
thoughtful and the poor more clear-sighted, both 
might be surrounded by the luxuries most prop- 
er for them : the great man might ha\e, unre- 
proached, his assemblies of the learned and the 


S10RING A CROP. 


109 


gay, and the laborer might refresh himself with 
his newspaper or his flute, when the task of the 
day is over, while the rose and the jessamine 
bloom beside his cottage door. — And now,’ 
continued Paul, while his companions remain- 
ed silent, ‘ I have preached five sermons where 
I promised only one ; so you will be glad if I 
wish you good day.’ 

' Stay,’ said Mr. Wallace, ‘you must give ns 
our turn. Do you think you need no admon- 
ishing ? ’ 

‘ I need it, and I have it. My lot is my best 
admonition.’ 

‘ I see no evil in your lot but what you inflict 
on yourself. Short rest and long toil, scanty 
food and warmth, solitude and care, — these are 
severe evils, but they are your own choice.’ 

‘ They are, and therefore they are not evils to 
me. They are means to the attainment of my 
great end, and that end is — wealth.’ 

His companions looked astonished at so bare- 
faced a confession. ‘ What can you mean ? ’ 
‘ How do you justify it .^’ ‘What, then, are the 
evils of your lot?’ they asked, impatiently. 

‘ One question at a time,’ said Paul quietly.. 
‘ I mean, that as all the good and all the evil of my 


110 


MANY WAYS OF 


life thus far have been connected with wealth, 
and as 1 am so made that I must have one great 
interest, it is natural that 1 should be passion- 
ately devoted to the pursuit of wealth. I mean 
that I am a miser.’ 

‘ And how do you justify yourself for being 
a miser ? for I suppose, as you are not ashamed 
to own it, you think you can justify it.’ 

‘ I do not pretend to justify it, any more than 
the drunkard pretends to justify the vice he can- 
not deny. I do not even make the allowance 
for myself which you would make for me, if you 
knew all that I could tell. My first choice of 
an object in life was bad. It was snatched 
from me, and I have chosen another equally 
bad. Heaven knows whether I shall be baffled 
here too, and whether I shall have strength 
enough to make another choice. Meantime, 
the misery of my lot is warning enough, if all 
warning were not in vain. — You ask what this 
misery is. Sleepless nights, when I lie cold 
and hungry and weary, fancying all the mis- 
chances that may happen to my earnings : in- 
cessant self-reprpach when I think I have lost 
an opportunity of making profit ; teazing 
thoughts of pounds, shillings, and pence, when 


STORING A CROP. 


Ill 


I would now and then think of other things ; — 
all these are evils are they not? I cannot listen 
to a running stream, or sit watching the field- 
fares in a clear winter day, oi follow the sheep- 
track among the heath on a summer’s eve- 
ning, with the light heart 1 once had ; for I 
always have the feeling that I am wasting my 
time, since these things can bring me no gold. 
If I think of prayer, my lips w ill say nothing 
but, ‘ Thou canst not serve both God and Mam- 
mon.’ Is not this an evil ? Could you preach 
me a better sermon than God speaks in his word 
and in the mountain breeze ? ’ 

There was a long silence ; for Paul looked 
so deeply moved by his own self-reproaches 
that neither of his companions ventured to ad- 
dress him. At length he stopped as if he was 
about to leave them. ‘ Bew^are,’ said he to 
Armstrong, ‘ of despising my hints about your 
way of life, because I have condemned my own. 
Remember that however much I injure myself, 
I serve society after a certain manner. Not by 
example, I own. In this, I can only be of use 
as a warning, — a humbling thought to a proud 
man. But 1 not only pay my way honestly, 
like you, but I am providing w'ealth for others 


]12 


A STORMY SEASON. 


It benefits them already, for I put it out to use 
It will benefit them again when I am dead. 
May it never more make any one so wretched 
as it makes me ! ’ 

‘ Are you a man,’ said Mr. Wallace solemnly, 
‘ and do you yet submit to such bondage ? I 
could not acknowledge such slavery for an hour. 
Break your habits of care, and enjoy the life a 
good God has given you. Think of the days 
when your father's smile was what you loved 
best, when your mother’s voice was your sweet- 
est music, when perhaps there were playmates 
beside you whom you loved more than you now 
love gold. Be a child again in heart while you 
are a man in understanding, and then you will 
be at ease without and at peace within.’ 

Paul made no reply, but turned away to hide 
the workings of his face, and with long strides 
crossed the ridge of the hill, and disappeared. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A STORMY SEASON. 

The change of times of which Mr. Wallace 
was ever mindful came at last. At the end of 


A STORMY SEASON. 


113 


three years the price of bar-iron was just half 
what it had been in the days we have described. 
There were many perceivable reasons for this 
change. The political state of various coun- 
tries was unsettled, and trade in general, there- 
fore, disturbed. The quantity of iron produced 
by the flow of capital and labor to that depart- 
ment had more than met the immediate demand, 
and there was a glut in the market. It was 
hoped that this glut was only temporary ; but 
there was much doubt whether the demand for 
bar-iron from South Wales would ever again be 
as extensive as formerly, for the Welsh iron- 
masters had now rivals abroad. In America 
and in various parts of Europe, establishments 
for the preparation of iron were beginning to 
flourish at the expense of those of longer stand- 
ing in our own country. Where the iron-stone, 
coal, and limestone were of good quality, and 
the works were situated near some navigable 
river, their produce could be brought into the 
market at little more than half the price for 
which the Welsh iron-masters could afford to 
sell theirs. 

This circumstance seemed to destroy the hope 
that the works in which we are interested could 


114 


A STORMY SEASON. 


ever more enjoy the prosperity which had been 
their lot for a few years. Many a sigh escaped 
from the masters as they were obliged to dimin- 
ish their profits again and again ; and many a 
curse did the least wise amongst their people 
vent upon the French or the Americans, who 
took their trade from them ; forgetting that as 
nature has scattered her mineral treasures over 
various regions of the earth, all their inhabitants 
have an equal right to use those treasures as the 
interest of society may prompt. What men 
have to do is not to refrain, or to expect others 
to refrain, from using the materials put within the 
reach of all ; but by industry and ingenuity so to 
improve the resources of art as that the greatest 
possible number of men may share the benefit : 
in other words, that the produce may be made 
as excellent and as cheap as possible. To ren- 
der an article of production more and more cheap, 
and more and more excellent, is the only way to 
create a permanent demand; as the competi- 
tion among producers which has always subsist- 
ed and always will and ought to subsist, can on- 
ly be met by bringing the article into more gen- 
eral use. So that Mr. Wallace’s laborers, in- 
stead of cursing their competitors on the other 


A STORMY SEASON. 


115 


side of the water, had better have aided their 
employer in devising means for improving his 
manufacture, and thus becoming better able to 
stand a competition which could not be pre- 
vented. 

The affairs of the concern underwent perpet- 
ual and anxious consideration by the partners. 
They thought apart, they consulted together, 
they exercised the greatest possible care to pro- 
mote the interest of all concerned in all their 
measures. Knowing that it is an unfounded 
prejudice that the interest of the two parties 
united in production can be opposed to each 
other, they wished that their men should under- 
stand the reasons of their measures and approve 
of them, and were therefore ever ready to con- 
verse with such as made their complaints, or 
proposed their doubts in a reasonable manner. 
Some such there were, and some had already 
informed themselves sufficiently respecting the 
fluctuations to which trade is liable, to be more 
sorry than surprised at the present state of 
things ; but there were many more who were ig- 
norant enough to suppose that their earnings 
were never to be lessened, however the fortunes 

of their masters might be suffering; and whe 

H 


116 


A STORMY SEASON. 


made as heavy complaints at every mention of 
a reduction of wages as if they had been treated 
with injustice. It was hard for the partners, 
who were as benevolent as they were discreet, 
to bear these complaints in addition to their 
own change of fortune ; but they would willing- 
ly have listened to them, if the grumblers would 
in turn have heard their reply. This, however, 
the men were unwilling to do. If they had 
chosen, they might have known that the affairs 
of the concern stood thus. 

The capital employed in this iron-work was 
made up, as we have seen, of three parts, — the 
implements of labor, the material on which labor 
was to be employed, and the subsistence, or 
wages, of laborers. Of these three parts, the 
first, comprehending the buildings, machinery, 
and tools, came under the head of fixed capital. 
The second and third, comprehending the min- 
eral material of the manufacture and the wages 
of the work-people who carried it on, consti- 
tuted the reproduceable capital of the concern. 
The fixed capital had not itself brought in any 
profit ; its purpose had been to enable the re- 
produceable capital to bring in a profit : that is, 
the furnaces and steam-engine had yielded no 


A STORMY SEASON. 


11? 


money themselves, but were necessary to brine; 
the iron-stone into a saleable shape. When the 
bar-iron sold well, it not only paid the owners 
the interest of the money they had laid out as 
fixed capital, and whatever they had spent in 
iron-stone and in wages, but a great deal over 
for profit. This profit was called their revenue, 
and out of it they paid the expenses of living, 
and then added what remained to their capital, 
which enabled them to employ more labor, to 
produce more iron, and therefore to increase 
again their revenue and their capital. If all 
had proceeded smoothly, if there had been a 
continually increasing demand and no foreign 
competition, it is clear that the wealth of the 
partners and the prosperity of the concern would 
have gone on continually increasing ; but as it 
did not, a change in the employment of the cap- 
ital became necessary. 

It is common to speak of two kinds of rev- 
enue. That which we have mentioned, — the 
profits of capital, — is called nett revenue ; while 
the name of gross revenue is given to the whole 
return made to the capitalist ; that is, his repro- 
duced capital and his profits together make his 
gross revenue, and his profits alone make his 
nett revenue. 


118 


A STORMY SEASON. 


When the price of bar-iron fell, the gross 
revenue was of course less than it had been ; so 
that. when the capital was replaced, a smaller 
nett revenue than usual remained. The part- 
ners immediately did what all wise men do in 
such a case, — they diminished the expenses of 
living. Mr. Bernard .dismissed two of his 
household servants, and did not indulge his 
children with a journey that year, and bought 
very few books, and left off many luxuries. Mr. 
Wallace laid down his curricle; and his lady 
sent away her maid and got her hand in again, 
as Paul would have said, to dress her hair. 
These retrenchments did not effect all the part- 
ners wished, and, for the first time since they 
opened their concern, they added nothing to 
their capital at the end of the year. The next 
year, though they retrenched still further, their 
nett revenue was not enough for their family 
expenses, and they were compelled to consider 
what retrenchments they could carry into their 
business as well as their domestic management. 
They knew that the grand point they must aim 
at, for the sake of all, was to keep their capital 
entire ; for the less capital they laid out, the less 
labor they could employ, and the less iron they 


A STORMY SEASON. 


119 


would send into the market, and their gross and 
nett revenue would dwindle away year by year. 

It was evident that their fixed capital must be 
left aS it was. Whenever any change was made 
in that department, it must be to add to it ; not 
by building more furnaces, but by substituting 
machinery, — hoarded labor, — for the labor which 
demanded wages ; but this would not be done 
till the effect of a reduction of wages had been 
tried. Whatever change was made, therefore, 
must be with respect to the reproduceable capi- 
tal. Could any economy be carried into the 
preparation of the iron-stone ? The different 
parts of the process were pondered frequently 
with this view ; and the result was, that no 
change could at present be made in the first fu- 
sion of the metal, but that the cinder which 
came from the refinery and the forge might, by 
being mixed with a particular kind of earth, be 
made to produce an inferior sort of iron which 
would sell well for certain purposes. The ex- 
periment was tried and succeeded to some ex- 
tent, though not so triumphantly as was expect- 
ed by Francis and his brother, who had turned 
their attention long and industriously to this 
point. They had hoped that the piles of cinder 


120 


A STORMY SEASON. 


which formed so ugly an object in their view 
would disappear under their new process ; but 
ihey were obliged to be content with using that 
which was daily thrown off in the manufacture 
of the superior kinds of iron. 

What was to be done besides ? The outlay 
of reproduceable capital in wages must be less- 
ened. It was so. The first reduction was ta- 
ken quietly; the second excited murmurs among 
the ignorant, and fear and sorrow among the 
clear-sighted of the sufferers ; the third occa- 
sioned threats of actual rebellion. Some of the 
men refused to work for such wages. Their 
masters explained to them the necessity of keep- 
ing the works a going, and continuing to pro- 
duce as much iron as possible, at however low 
a price, in order to retain their stand in the 
market as long as their capital could ‘be return- 
ed entire. The men once more submitted, but 
were not long quiet. 

It became necessary to diminish the cost of 
production still further, as prices continued to 
fall. It was found that parts of the work which 
were now done by hand could be done more 
cheaply by mechanical contrivances ; and some 
new machinery was therefore introduced, and 


A STORMY SEASON. 


121 


some men and boys dismissed. This created an 
outcry ; but how could it be helped ; there was 
no other way of preserving the capital of the 
concern, and on that capital every man belong- 
ing to it depended as much as the partners. 
The work-people to be dismissed were, of course, 
chosen from among the least industrious and 
able. It was hoped by their masters and neigh- 
bors that they would carry their labor where it 
was more wanted, and leave the place in peace ; 
but instead of this they remained till their last 
farthing was spent, trying to persuade others to 
throw up their work unless higher wages were 
given, and swearing at the machinery, and 
abusing the owners, to the great annoyance of 
all sober people. Some who went away to find 
work, returned continually to spread discontent 
wherever they could, and to aggravate the exist- 
ing distress by adding ill-will to poverty and 
anxiety. On pay-days especially, they gathered 
round the doors when the people went to re- 
ceive their wages, and laughed at them for the 
smallness of their earnings, and tried to exas- 
perate them by reminding them how much was 
now done by wood and iron that was till lately 
wrought by human labor, and how prosperous 


122 


A STORMY SEASON. 


they had all been once when less machinery was 
in use. Some were too wise to be taken in by 
all this, and answered that the new machinery 
was the consequence and not the cause of the 
change of times ; and that prosperous as they 
were three years before, they might have been 
more so if these mechanical improvements had 
been then in use. But many more, who were 
ignorant or so dispirited as to be ready to take 
up any cause of complaint, allowed themselves 
to be deceived and persuaded that their employ- 
ers were conspiring to oppress them. 

It soon after happened, most unfortunately, 
that a boy, who had in charge the management 
of some part of the new machinery, was careless, 
and put himself in the way of receiving a blow 
on the head, which killed him on the spot. 
There was no more reason to complain of the 
new machinery than the old on account of this 
accident. If the filler had allowed himself to 
fall into the furnace, or the keeper had put him- 
self in the way of being burned when he tapped 
the hearth, or the catcher had thrust his arm in 
the way of being crushed by the rollers, no one 
would have blamed any thing but their own 
carelessness ; and so it ought to have been in 


A STORMY SEASON. 


123 


the present case. But the new invention was 
now to bear the blame of every thing, and peo- 
ple were present when the accident happened, 
who took advantage of the occasion to work 
upon the feelings of the discontented. It was 
a sad scene. 

A sudden cry brought the overlooker to the 
spot. He found four or five people gathered 
about the boy, who lay quite dead, with his 
skull fractured and his face distorted, so that he 
was a terrible object. One man was holding 
forth in a great passion, demanding whether 
their lives were to be sported with at the fancy 
of those who chose to enjoy their luxuries at 
the cost of the poor ; if they must submit, not 
only to have their work done for them before 
their faces, but to be liable to be wounded and 
struck dead by a power which they could not 
resist? A cool, wary-looking man who stood 
by, appeared to check the furious orator, but in 
reality inflamed his passion. 

‘ You forget my man,’ said he, ‘ that it must 
be a pleasant thing to our employers to have 
slaves that want nothing to eat and drink, and 
ask no wages, and make no complaints. They 
find us very troublesome, because we tell them 


124 


A STORMY SEASON. 


we and our wives and little ones must live. 
Wood and iron have no such tales to tell, so no 
wonder they are preferred to us.’ 

‘ They have no such tales to tell ; and the 
saying is, that dead men tell no tales ; but this 
boy,’ cried the passionate man, pointing to the 
body, ‘ shall tell a tale that shall rouse the spirit 
of all the oppressed within many a mile. I will 
carry him from one end of the district to the 
other; and all that want redress shall follow in 
his funeral train.’ 

‘How will you frame your complaint? ’ asked 
the other quietly. ‘ Our masters will laugh, and 
ask if it is their fault that iron breaks bones. 
They will tell you that if the lad had been out 
of work, as they want us all to be, this would 
not have happened. They will tell you that if 
he had been loitering about the baker’s door 
longing for the food he could not buy, instead 
of being quietly at work ’ 

‘ 0, my boy, my boy ! ’ cried a dreadful voice 
at this moment. ‘ I will see my boy, I will see 
who murdered him, I will have revenge on 
whoever murdered him ! 0, you are cruel to 

keep me away ! I will have revenge on ye all.’ 

It was the unhappy mother, who had heard 


A STORMY SEASON. 


1*25 


that her son was killed, but did not know how. 
She was so possessed by the idea that he had 
been destroyed by human force, that when she 
saw him she was not undeceived, and continued 
to vow revenge. 

‘ Revenge is not so easy to be had/ observed 
the quiet man. ‘ You may pull the machine to 
pieces, but it will feel nothing, and so do you 
no good ; and they that put up the machine are 
too high for the revenge of such as we are/ 

‘ They are not,’ cried the passionate man. 
‘ If we pull their works to pieces, we only take 
what is our right as wages ; and do you think it 
will not gall our masters to see us take our own ? 
If it did not, would not they give us our own ? 
As for you, poor creature,' he continued, ad- 
dressing the mother, who was passionately wail- 
ing over the body, ‘ take your own. Take the 
cold clay that should have been alive and strong 
before you this many a year. Close his eyes 
that always looked bright upon you. Nay, nev- 
er grasp his hand in that manner. Those hands 
should have brought you bread when your own 
are feeble ; they should have smoothed your 
pillow when you could only have raised yours 
to his head to bless him. Cover up his face, 


120 


A STORMY SEASON. 


you that stand there ! His mother will forget his 
pretty smile, and this ghastly look of his will 
haunt her, night and day, till she goes to her 
grave. It is well he cannot smile again ; it 
would make her forget her revenge.’ 

‘ Who dares talk of revenge ? Upon whom 
do you seek revenge?’ cried a powerful voice 
from the outskirts of the crowd, which had, by 
this time, assembled. It was Paul, who had 
arrived so as to hear the last words, and had 
more courage than the overlooker to interfere. 

‘ I demand revenge/ shrieked the mother, 
starting up with clenched hands and glaring 
eyes, while her hair fell over her shoulders. 

‘ Was it you ? ’ replied Paul in a gentle voice, 
as he made his way to her. ‘ I thought it had 
been another voice. Come with me,’ he added, 
drawing her arm within his own ; ‘ I will take 
you home. He will follow,’ — seeing that she 
was going to lay hold of the body.’ ‘ They will 
bring him home, and you will be quieter there.’ 

‘ Quieter ! quiet enough* when I shall have no 
son to speak to me night nor morning,’ cried 
the woman, bursting into another passion of 
grief. 

‘ She does not want quiet, she wants revenge. 


A STORMY SEASON. 


127 


and it was my voice you heard say so,’ exclaimed 
the passionate man. 

‘ Then you did not know what you were say- 
ing,’ replied Paul gravely. 

‘ You shall say the same, you shall be one of 
us, or I will knock you down,’ cried the man. 

‘ I will not say so ; for nobody has been in- 
jured that I know of ’ 

Paul could not proceed for the outcry. ‘No- 
body injured! Was it no injury fora widow 
woman to have her son killed at his work by an 
unnatural accident like this ? She was as much 
injured as if his throat had been cut before her 
eyes by the master’s own hands.’ Inflamed 
more than ever by this outcry, the passionate 
man rushed upon Paul, and tried to knock him 
down. But Paul had the advantage of being 
cool, and was besides a very powerful man. He 
stood the attack, and then floored his adversary. 
It was a dreadful sight to see the mother, who 
should by this time have been hiding her grief 
at home, helping the fight. 

The flush and sneer of passion were on her 
face as she tried to raise and encourage the 
fallen man. Paul had nearly lost his temper on 
so unprovoked an attack ; but one glance at the 
woman brought tears into his eyes. 


A STORMY SEASON. 


I 28 


At this moment the clatter of a horse’s foot 
was heard, and Mr. Wallace, who had been 
absent from the works for some hours, rode up. 
The overlooker now seemed to recover the use 
of his limbs and his senses. He made way for 
his employer, who showed by his countenance 
moie than by words how much he was shocked 
that such a scene should take place on such an 
occasion. He rode between the two fighters, 
and desired them to depart by opposite ways, 
gave the unhappy woman into the charge of the 
overlooker, and sent the bystanders about their 
business. 

In half an hour, Mrs. Wallace, who had 
heard of the accident merely from common re- 
port, and knew none of the succeeding circum- 
.staiicos, was sitting beside the poor woman, en- 
deavoring to comfort her and to keep her quiet 
from the intrusions ofher neighbors. This was 
construed into a new offence by the discontented ; 
and when the sufferer was found to have changed 
her tone, to speak calmly of her loss, and grate- 
fully of the attentions that were paid to her, she 
was told that the lady only came to speak to her 
fair, and make her give up her revenge. One 
said they had got something by their discontent 


A STORMY SEASON. 


129 


already, for it was a fine thing to see an elegant 
lady come out on foot to a laborer’s cottage and 
sit down as if she lived in a cottage herself ; and 
another asked what sort of a story she had whee- 
dled the mourner into believing about the new 
machinery. 

The woman replied that it was not the first 
time by many that Mrs. Wallace had come 
down among them, to say nothing of the other 
ladies, who spoke with one or another every 
day of their lives. Mrs. Wallace was a tender- 
hearted lady, she would say that for her, though 
she seemed high when nothing happened to 
make her take particular notice. She had nev- 
er so much as mentioned the new machinery, 
and knew nothing about it, it seemed. It was 
not to be supposed that ladies were told all that 
was going on at the works ; and though the of- 
fence was not to be forgiven or forgotten, it was 
to be brought home to the partners and not to 
their families, to whom she, for one, should 
never mention it. 

‘ ’Tis all the lady’s art,’ cried one. ‘ She has 
gained you over by a few soft words,’ said anoth- 
er ‘I wonder you let yourself be so taken in/ 
adflcd a third ; so that the poor woman, who 


130 


A STORMY SEASON. 


was of a changeable temper at all times, and 
icw weakened by what had happened, was per- 
suaded to think as ill of Mrs. Wallace as her 
neighbors would have her. 

When the lady came early after breakfast the 
next morning, she observed that the children ran 
out to stare at her, and that their mothers looked 
scornfully upon her from the windows. This 
was very painful to her ; and she passed on 
quickly till she reached the house of the woman 
she came to seek. The door was locked, and 
when she tapped to ask admittance, a lattice 
above was flung open, and she was told by a 
saucy voice that the person she wanted did not 
wish to be interrupted. 

‘ Will you come down, then, and let me speak 
a few words to you about the funeral ? ’ 

The neighbor above drew back, as if to repeat 
what was said. In a moment the mourner (who 
could not be interrupted) took her place, and 
screamed out like, a virago, as she looked. 

‘ Let alone me and mine at your peril. They 
that killed my boy shall not bury him.’ And 
she continued to pour out such a torrent of 
abuse, that the lady who had never before heard 
‘uch language, was ready to sink to the ground. 


A STORMY SEASON. 131 

Her servant-boy, who had staid a little behind 
on an errand, now came up and looked so fierce 
on those who dared to insult his lady, that her 
fear of the consequences recalled her presence 
of mind. When her spirit was once roused, 
no one had more courage or good sense. De- 
termining instantly what to do, she held up her 
finger as a sign to John to be quiet, laid her 
commands on him to make no reply to anything 
that was said, and stood at the window-sill to 
write a few words on a slip of paper, which she 
bade him carry to Mr. Bernard, or one of his 
sons, absolutely forbidding him to let her hus- 
band know, even if he should meet him, how 
she was placed. 

‘I cannot leave you, ma’am, among these 
wretches,’ cried John, looking round on the 
mob of women and children who were collect- 
ing. 

‘ Do not call them wretches, or look as if 
there was any thing to be afraid of,’ said his mis- 
tress, ‘ but make haste and then come to me 
under that tree.’ 

What she had written was, ‘Say nothing to 
my husband, but come and help me to clear up 
a mistake of some consequence.’ When John 
I 


132 


A STORMY SEASON. 


disappeared with the note, which every body had 
seen her write, the cry of abuse rose louder than 
ever. It was hard to bear ; but the lady felt that jf 
she retreated now, she should lose her own and 
injure her husband’s influence forever amon^ 
these people. The thought came across her, too, 
that she might owe some of this to the reserve 
of her usual demeanor ; and as a punishment 
also she resolved to stand it well. She there- 
fore only made her way to the tree she had 
pointed out, and sat down under it ; a necessa- 
ry proceeding, for she could scarcely stand. 
There she waited for John’s return with Mr. 
Bernard, longing to look every instant whether 
they were comings but Carefully refraining from 
turning her head that way, lest the people 
should see her anxiety. 

‘ What is all this ? ’ cried Mr. Bernard, when 
at length he arrived breathless, with John at his 
heels, wiping his brows. ‘ Have these people 
dared to hurt you ? ’ 

‘ No : they have only railed at me, so that I 
could not make myself heard ; and I want you 
to find out why. Keep your temper, I implore 
you. I sent for you instead of my husband, 
because I was afraid he would not command 
himself.’ 


A STORMY SEASON. 


133 


John was eager to explain why he had been 
so long. Mr. Bernard was not at the office, as 
John expected. Mr. Wallace was, and John 
had much ado to avoid telling him ; but he held 
his peace and went on his errand. It seemed 
as if he had been gone for hours, he said, for he 
did not know what might have happened in his 
absence. 

Mr. Bernard knew more of the present dispo- 
sition and complaints of the people than Mrs. 
W allace, and — what was on this occasisn of as 
much consequence — he had a stronger voice ; 
so that he soon got to the bottom of the matter. 

He showed them the folly of supposing that 
the lady’s object was different now from what it 
had been in many former cases where she had 
shown kindness; and began to rate them sound- 
ly for their ingratitude and savage behavior, 
when the lady interceded for them. When he 
stopped to listen to her, there was a dead si- 
lence. She said that she did not wish them to 
be reproached more than she was sure they 
would soon reproach themselves ; that she did 
not come among them for the sake of making 
them grateful to her, but in order to show her 
good-will at times when good-will is worth 


134 


A STORMY SEASON. 


more than any thing else that can be given. As 
long as her neighbors were willing to accept 
this good-'W'ill as freely as it was offered, she 
should come among them, undeterred by the 
mistakes about her motives which a few might 
fall into : but that no person was called upon to 
encounter a second time such treatment as she 
had met with that day ; and therefore, unless 
she was sent for, she should not appear among 
them again. If this should be the last time they 
should ever speak to one another, she hoped 
they would remember it was not at her wish, 
but their own. 

The people were now in a condition to hear 
reason, and they believed the lady’s assurance, 
that when she came down the day before, she 
knew nothing whatever of the cause of the 
boy’s death, and was silent on the subject of 
the new machinery only because she had no idea 
how much the people were thinking and feeling 
on the subject. She was ready henceforth to 
talk about it as much as they pleased. 

When she stood up and took Mr. Bernard’s 
arm to go homewards, nothing could exceed 
the attention of the people — so changeable 
were they in their moods. One brought water, 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


135 


which the lady accepted with a kijid smile; and 
glad she was of it, for she was very thirsty. 
The mourner’s door was now wide open ; and, 
with many curtseys, Mrs. Wallace was invited 
to enter and rest herself. This, however, she 
declined for the present day. The mothers 
called their children off as a huntsman calls off 
his dogs, and the hunted lady was at last left in 
peace with her friend and her servant. When 
Mr. Bernard had left her safe at home, her 
spirits sank. She did not fall into hysterics, or 
alarm her household with an account of what 
she had gone through ; but she sat alone in her 
dressing-room, dropping many a bitter tear over 
the blindness and folly of the people whose hap- 
piness seemed quite overthrown, and unable to 
keep down a thousand fears of what was to 
happen next. 


CHAPTER VIL 

CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 

The delusion that the improvement in ma- 
chinery was the cause of a change in the times. 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 

and not the consequence or the future remedy 
for such a change, had become too general and 
too firmly established in this society to be re- 
moved by a few explanations or strong impres- 
sions here and there. Discontent grew hourly ; 
and the complaints which had before been divid- 
ed between the American and French iron- 
works, the rivals in the neighborhood, the gov- 
ernment of the country, and the whole body of 
customers who would not give so high a price 
as formerly for their iron, were now turned full 
upon the new machinery and those who had set 
it up. Growlings met the ears of the partners 
wherever they turned ; the young men had to 
keep a constant restraint upon their tempers, 
and the ladies directed their walks where they 
might be out of hearing of threats which alarm- 
ed or murmurings which grieved them 

Two days after Mrs. Wallace’s adventure, 
her husband, on rising from the breakfast-table, 
saw Armstrong coming in at the gate. 

‘ It is a sign of the times that you are here,’ 
said he, as he shook hands with the old man. 

‘ How are we to read it? ’ 

‘ As your discretion may direct when you 
have heard my story,’ replied the old man 
gravely. 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


137 


Mr. Wallace looked doubtfully at him, as if 
to ask whether they had not better save his wife 
from alarm by being private. Armstrong under- 
stood him. 

‘Sit down, madam, if you please,’ said he. 
* W^omen are not often so cowardly as they are 
said to be, if they are but treated fairly, and given 
to understand what they are to expect. It is 
too much to look for courage from such as know 
that the worst they have to dread is often kept 
from them. So you shall hear, ma’am, and 
judge for yourself. Only do not turn pale be- 
fore I begin, or you will make me look ashamed 
of having so little to tell.’ 

Comforted by the end of this speech as much 
as she had been alarmed by the beginning, Mrs. 
W allace smiled in answer to her husband’s anx- 
ious looks, and drew her chair to listen. 

Armstrong related that he had observed from 
his garden, after working hours the evening be- 
fore, an unusual number of people sauntering 
about a field at a considerable distance from his 
dwelling. He called his housekeeper out to 
look and guess what it might be. She had once 
seen Punch in a field with a crowd ; and her 
only idea, therefore, was that it might be Punch ; 


138 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


and when her master sent her for his telescope, 
she fixed it at the window before she brought 
it, and was almost sure she saw a stand with a 
red curtain such as she had seen when Punch 
appeared to her. Her master, however,- who 
was not apt to see visions through his glass, 
could make out nothing but that all the people 
in the field seemed to be collected in one place, 
and that one man was raised above the rest and 
apparently haranguing them. He instantly re- 
solved to go, partly from curiosity, and partly 
because he expected to hear complaints of the 
management of the neigboring concern; com- 
plaints which, kind-hearted as he was, he loved 
to hear, because they confirmed his prejudices, 
which were dearer to him than even his friend 
Mr. Wallace or Mr. Wallace’s gentle wife. He 
did not give the account of his motives exactly 
as we have given it; but he conveyed it clearly 
enough by what he said to make Mr. and Mrs. 
Wallace glance at each other with a smile. 

He arrived on the spot only in time for the 
conclusion of the last speech, from which he 
gathered that the object of the meeting was to 
consider what measures should be taken with 
their employers to induce them to alter such of 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


139 


their plans as were displeasing to their men ; 
and that it was determined that a deputation 
should wait upon the partners to demand that 
the quantity of labor which was displaced by 
machinery should be restored to human hands. 
In order to try the disposition of the masters, it 
was also to be demanded that every man, wo- 
man, and child in the society, except the few 
necessary to attend to the furnaces, should be 
allowed to follow the funeral of the deceased 
boy, the next day. If both requests were re- 
fused, the people were to take their own way 
about attending the funeral, and another meet- 
ing was to be held round the boy’s grave, as 
soon as the service was over. Armstrong’s 
description of the vehemence with which this 
last resolution was agreed to, convinced Mr. 
Wallace that it was time to take more decided 
measures for keeping the peace than he had yet 
thought would be necessary. While he was 
musing, Armstrong continued : 

‘ I hate your iron-work, and every thing (not 
every body) belonging to it, as you know : but 
I had rather see it quietly given up than pulled 
to pieces. So, if you will let me, I will go and 
tell the magistrates in the next town the con- 


140 


CI.OUDS OVER HEAD. 


dition you are in, and bid them send a sufficient 
force for your safety. I am afraid there is no 
chance of your giving up your new-fangled ma- 
chinery.’ 

‘No chance whatever,’ replied Mr. Wallace 
decidedly.’ If we give up that, we give up the 
bread of hundreds who depend on us for employ- 
ment. By means of this machinery, we can just 
manage to keep our business going, without lay- 
ing by any profit whatever. If we give up any 
one of our measures of economy, that concern 
must be closed and all these people turned adrift. 
■I shall tell them so, if they send a deputation to- 
day.’ 

Armstrong contented himself with shaking 
his head, as he had nothing wherewith he could 
gainsay Mr. Wallace. At length he asked what 
Mr. Wallace chose to do. 

‘ To refuse both demands, stating my reasons. 
I am sure my partner will act with me in this. 
As to your kind offer of goiiiff to the magistrates, 
I will, if you please, consult him, and let you 
know in an hour or two. I have little doubt 
we shall accept your services; but lean do 
nothing so important without Mr. Bernard’s 
concurrence. Where will my messenger find 
you ? ’ 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


141 


‘ At home, in my garden. But take care how 
you choose your messenger. Some of the peo- 
ple saw me in the field last night, and if any 
body goes straight from you to me to-day, they 
may suspect something. I took care to come 
by a round-about way where nobody could see 
me ; and by the same way 1 shall go back.’ 

‘ But why go back ? Why not stay where 
nobody will be looking for you ? ’ 

‘ Because home is one stage of my journey 
to the town, and I can slip away quietly from 
my own gate. By the way, your messenger 
must be one who will not blab his errand to my 
house-keeper or to any one he may meet. Peg 
is silent enough when there is no one for her to 
speak to ; but we cannot tell in these strange 
days who may cross her path.’ 

Who should the messenger be ? Mrs. Wal- 
lace offered her services, thinking that a lady 
would hardly be suspected : but her husband 
would not hear of her stirring out that day. 

‘ W'^hy not use a signal ? ’ asked Armstrong 
at length. ‘ A white handkerchief tells no tales, 
and I can see your windows plainly enough 
with my glass from my garden hedge. So hang 
out your flag and I shall know ’ 


142 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


This was at once pronounced the best plan ; 
and it was agreed that at three o’clock precisely 
(by which time the temper of the deputation 
would be known) Armstrong should watch for 
the signal. If he saw a white handkerchief, all 
would be well, and he might stay at home : if a 
red, he was to go to the magistrates and state 
the case, and leave them to judge what force 
should be provided for the defence of the works. 
Mr. Wallace furnished the old man with a writ- 
ten certificate that he was authorized by the 
firm, and then bidding his wife hope for the 
best, hastened away to business. Armstrong 
also took his leave ; and the three meditated, as 
they pursued their different occupations, on the 
ignorance and weakness through which members 
of the same society, who ought to work togeth- 
er for the good of each and all, are placed in 
mutual opposition, and waste those resources in 
contest which ought to be improved by union. 

During the whole morning, the partners re- 
mained on the spot in expectation of the mes- 
sage they were to receive from the great body 
of their work-people ; but none came. All 
went quietly on with their business as if no un- 
usual proceeding was meditated; so that when 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


.43 


two o’clock came, Mr. Wallace went home to 
comfort his wife with the tidings that she might 
hang out a white flag. There was no use in 
speculating on what had changed the plan of 
the discontented ; it was certain that no pre- 
tence remained for civil or military protection 
Relieved, for the present, of a load of anxiety, 
the lady ran up stairs to prepare her signal with 
a step as light as any with which she had ever 
led of a dance ; while, on the distant height, 
Margaret wondered what had possessed John 
Armstrong that he could not mind his work this 
day, but must be peering through his glass eve- 
ry minute, till, after a long, low whistle, he laid 
it aside and looked no more. She was almost 
moved to ask him what he had seen ; but habit 
was stronger than impulse'with her, and she 
held her peace. 

When Mr. Wallace went down to the works 
again, he observed that Paul, who, as furnace- 
keeper, was accustomed to keep his eye on his 
work as steadily as an astronomer on a newly 
discovered star, looked up as his employer’s step 
drew near, and met his eye with a glance full 
of meaning. Mr. Wallace stopped ; but as sev- 
eral people were by, explanation was impossi- 


144 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


ble. ‘ Paul, I want to know — but there is no 
use in asking you a question while you are busy. 
You will be meddled with by nobody at this 
time of day.’ 

‘ I had rather be questioned in broad day 
when I am about my work,’ replied Paul with 
another quick glance, ‘ than at night when I am 
snug at home and think it is all over till the 
next day.’ 

‘ 0 ho ! ’ thought Mr. Wallace, I understand.’ 

‘ Well, but,’ he continued, ‘ the question I was 
going to ask is not about your furnace-work, 
but one of your other trades. , If I came to you 
in the evening, I suppose you would bolt your 
door and send me away without an answer.’ 

‘Not so,’ said Paul, ‘for I think every man 
that asks a fair question should have a plain 
answer. Such an one I would give with all 
civility; but when that was done, I should say 
this was no time for talk and wish you good 
evening.’ 

‘ And if I would not go till I had got all I 
wanted, would you call Jones and his lads to 
turn me out by force ^ ’ 

‘ Not the first time ; but if you grew angry at 
being sent away, I should take good care how 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


145 


I let you come near rne again in a passion. If 
you put a finger on my work -bench, I should 
call the Jones's to rap your knuckles and cry 
‘Hands off!’ So you see, sir, what you have 
to expect.’ 

‘ You are a strange fellow,’ said Mr. Wallace ; 
‘ but I thank you for warning me how to be- 
have.’ 

‘ It would be well if he behaved himself a lit- 
tle more mannerly,’ said one of the work-people 
near. ‘ If any of us were to threaten a gentle- 
man in that manner, what an outcry there would 
be about it I ’ 

‘ Paul is an oddity, and does not mind being 
thought so,’ observed Mr. Wallace. ‘But he 
shows us the respect of doing our work well, 
and taking as much carh of our interests as if 
they were his own. Blunt speech and fair 
deeds for me, rather than fair words and rough 
deeds.’ 

‘ What do you think of rough words and 
deeds together ? ’ said another workman. 
‘ They seem likely to be the order of the day.’ 

‘ No man is bound to put up with them,’ re- 
plied his employer. ‘ Here, at least, they shall 
not be borne.’ 


146 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


The man’s companion jogged his elbow, and 
he said no more. 

The partners, in communicating with each 
other, agreed that it was probable from what 
Paul had said, that a tumultuous demand for 
leave to attend the next day’s funeral would be 
made that night. As it was scarcely likely that 
the people would proceed to violence before the 
churchyard meeting they had appointed, it was 
determined that their absurd demand should be 
refused. 

The gates of both dwellings were early closed 
that evening, and the doors well fastened. The 
ladies were not kept in ignorance of what was 
expected ; for their companions had confidence 
in their courage, and remembered besides that 
it would add much to whatever confusion might 
occur to have consternation within the house, 
at the same time as tumult without. 

It must be owned that Mrs. Wallace fell into 
a reverie more than once while her husband 
read to her ; and that the young ladies at Mr. 
Bernard’s played iheir duet more by rote than 
conamore this night. In all the pauses they 
listened for shouting or the trampling of feet ; 
and when they had done, their father himself 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


147 


opened the shutters, and looked out and com- 
manded silence. The moon had not risen, and 
there was no light but from the furnace-fires 
below, which sent up a red cloud into the sky ; 
and there was no sound but the distant roar and 
rumble of the works. It was a warm evening, 
and the family stood for some time at the open 
window, talking little, but some trying to dis- 
tinguish the stars through the columns of smoke, 
and others wondering what would have hap- 
pened by the same hour the next night, while 
the little ones kept as quiet as possible in the 
hope that their papa and Mrs. Sydney would 
forget to send them to bed. 

‘ Father,’ cried Frank, ‘I saw a man leap the 
hedge, — there,* — in that corner.’ All had heard 
the rustling among the shrubs. 

‘ Who is there } ’ demanded Mr. Bernard. 

‘ Shut your shutters, sir, I advise you,’ said 
Jones in a low voice. ‘They are near, and 
they should not see your lights as they turn the 
corner. I ran on first, and Paul is gone with 
the party to Mr. Wallace’s. I must make haste 
and join them again before I am missed. I on 
ly came to see that you were fast. 

Will they proceed to violence to night?’ 

K 


148 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


asked Mr. Bernard before he closed the win- 
dow. 

‘ No fear, if you are decided and civil-spoken ; 
but 1 won’t answer for so much for to-morrow.’ 

So saying, Jones ran off and climbed' the 
hedge again, that he might drop in at the rear 
of the party, the glare of whose torches began 
to appear at the turn of the road. 

‘ Upstairs, all of you, and let nobody appear 
at the windows but my lads and myself, said 
Mr. Bernard. ‘And do not be afraid. You 
heard that there is no fear of violence to-night.’ 

There was a tremendous knocking and ring- 
ing at the door before all the family were up 
stairs. 

‘ What do you want with m'e ? ’ asked Mr. 
Bernard, throwing up a sash of the second story. 

‘ We w'ant, in the first place, your promise to 
take to pieces the new machinery which keeps 
so many people out of work, and never to use 
it again without the consent of all parties con- 
cerned.’ 

‘ A reasonable request, truly ! I believe there 
is more to be said to bring us into the same 
mind on that point than can be got through in 
a short summer’s night.’ 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


149 


‘Answer us Yes or No/ cried the speaker. 

‘ Tell him the conditions/ said the man next 
to him. ‘ Let him know what he has to expect 
either way.’ 

‘ No ; tell me of no conditions/ said Mr. 
Bernard ; ‘ I deny your right to impose any, 
and I will not hear them. As long as my part- 
ners and I are in business, we will keep the 
management of our own concerns. So say 
nothing of conditions.’ 

‘ Answer us Yes or No, then,’ repeated the 
first speaker. ‘ Will you pull down the ma- 
chinery or will you not.? ’ 

‘ I will not. So you have my answer. My 
reasons are at your service whenever you choose 
to ask for them in a proper time and manner.’ 

The crowd murmured at the mention of rea- 
sons ; but a man who flitted about among them 
urged them to bring forward their second demand. 
Thisman was Jones; and his object was to shorten 
the scene, and get the people to disperse. 

‘ Your reply is taken down, sir, ’ 

‘ Where it will never be forgotten,’ growled 
a deep voice. 

‘ And we proceed to request that all the peo- 
ple in the works may attend the funeral of 


150 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


James Fry to-morrow, and not return to work 
till the next day, with the exception of the 
smallest number necessary to keep the furnaces.’ 

‘ For what purpose ? ’ 

‘For the purpose of expressing their abhor- 
rence of the means by which the boy came by 
his death. 

‘ What could make you suppose my partner 
and I should grant your request ? ’ 

‘ Not any idea that you would like it, cer- 
tainly. But what should hinder our taking leave 
if you will not give it ? ’ 

‘ Hear my answer, and then spend tomorrow 
as you may choose. I refuse permission to 
any man to quit the work he has agreed to per- 
form, with the exception of the four named by 
the boy’s mother to attend the funeral. All be- 
sides who quit their work to-morrow quit it for- 
ever,’ 

‘Suppose we make you quit your works?’ 
cried an insolent voice. 

‘ You have it in your power to do so by with- 
drawing your labor ; but the day when yonder 
furnaces. are out of blast will be the day of your 
ruin. If you force us to choose between two 
evils, we had rather close our concern and go 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. ]5J 

whence we came, than carry on the most pios- 
perous business under the control of those who 
depend on our capital for subsistence.’ 

Another murmer arose at the last sentence. 
‘ We will soon see what becomes of your capi- 
tal ! ’ ‘ What is your capital to us if you are 

so afraid of having any body touch it but your- 
selves ? ’ ‘We will carry away our labor, and 
then much good may your capital do you ! ’ 

‘ Just as much and no more,’ said Mr. Ber- 
nard, ‘ than your labor^can do without our cap- 
ital. Remember that it is not our wish that the 
two powers should be separated to the ruin of 
us all. If you throw up your work to-morrow, 
our concern is ruined. If you will have a little 
patience, and supply your share of our contract, 
we may all see better days. Judge for your- 
selves.’ 

He shut down the window and closed the 
shutters. The crowd below, after uttering va- 
rious strange noises, and vehemently cheering 
sentiments proposed by their leaders, dispersed, 
and by midnight the shrubbery looked as still in 
the moonlight as if no intruder’s step had been 
there. 

A nearly similar scene, with a corresponding 


152 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


conclusion, had been exhibited at Mr. Wal- 
lace’s. As soon as the people were gone, that 
gentleman determined to lose no time in com- 
municating with Armstrong, as it was now evi- 
dent that protection would be necessary if the 
people chose to gratify their passions by attend- 
ing the funeral and subsequent meeting. 

Mr. Wallace was little disposed for sleep, 
and thought a moonlight walk would refresh 
him, and remembered he should be his own 
safest messenger : so when all was silent, he 
set forth, telling his wife that he should be back 
within two hours, when he hoped to inform her 
that Armstrong was gone to bespeak the neces- 
sary assistance. 

Lt was just eleven when he reached the steps 
below Armstrong’s gate. As he climbed the 
gate, the dog barked, growled, and made ready 
for a spring. 

‘How now. Keeper ! ’ cried the master from 
within and his guest without, at the same mo- 
ment. The dog knew Mr. Wallace’s voice, 
but was not sure enough of his man, muffled in 
a cloak as he was, to give over his alarm at 
once. He leaped and frisked about, still growl- 
ing, while the old man held forth a gleaming 


CLOUDS OVER HEAD. 


153 


pistol in the moonlight from his lattice. ' Stand 
off, or ril lire, cried he. But when he heard, 
‘ Do not be in a hurry to shoot your friend Wal- 
lace,’ he was in greater alarm than before. He 
hastened to let in his guest that he might hear 
what had happened. 

Mr. Wallace observed with some surprise 
that he had not called the old man from his bed. 
Armstrong had been sitting, with his laborer’s 
dress on, beside the table, where lay his open 
Bible, his pistols, his spectacles, and the lamp. 
Before the visitor had time to ask what kept 
his friend up so late, the housekeeper put her 
night-capped head into the room. 

‘ No thieves, Peg,’ said her master ; and the 
head withdrew ; for Margaret did not see that 
she had any business with what brought Mr. 
Wallace there at so strange an hour. Her 
master was quite of her mind ; for, when it was 
settled what he was to do, he tapped at her 
door and only said, 

‘ I am going out, and if I should not be back 
till dinner to-morrow, don’t be frightened. 
Keeper will take good care of you.’ 

- And then he set off to rouse the magistrates, 
while Mr. Wallace proceeded homewards, 


154 


A TEMPEST. 


pausing now and then to hear whether all was 
quiet below, and watching how the twinkling 
lights went out (so much later than usual) one 
by one in the cottage windows 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A TEMPEST. 

Early the next morning a messenger came 
to the Jones’s door to let them know that the 
funeral procession would form at the widow Fry’s 
at eight o’clock, and that punctuality was partic- 
ularly requested. Paul asked what this mess^age 
meant, as nobody in that house was going to at- 
tend. The messenger was sorry for it. He had 
been ordered to give notice from house to house, 
and he believed almost every body meant to go. 

‘ Then, Jones,’ said Paul, ‘ the sooner we are 
off to our work the better. Example may do 
something in such a case.’ 

These two and a few others went to their 
woik earlier than usual, for the sake of exam- 
ple. More kept close at home, and only came 


A TEMPEST. 


55 


forth when the procession was out of sight, 
creeping quietly to their business as if they were 
ashamed or afraid. But by far the greater num- 
ber followed the coffin to its burial-place in a 
churchyard among the hills,, near the Ranters’ 
place of meeting. These walked arm in arm, 
four abreast, keeping a gloomy silence, and 
looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. 

It had occurred to Mr. Bernard that the 
clergyman who was to perform the service might 
exert a very useful influence in favor of peace 
over those who were brought together on such 
an occasion. He therefore sent a letter to him 
by a man and horse, communicating the pres- 
ent position of affairs. 

The clergyman was young and timid; and 
being unable to determine what he should do, 
he did the very worst thing of all ; he escaped 
in an opposite direction, leaving no account of 
where he might be found. He was waited for 
^till the people, already in an irritable mood, be- 
came very impatient ; and when a party, who 
had gone to his house to hasten him, brought 
news of his absence, the indignation of the 
crowd was unbounded. They at once jumped 
to the conclusion that their employers had cho- 


156 


A TEMPEST. 


sen to prevent the interment taking place, and 
to delay them thus for the sake of making fools 
of them. They forgot, in their rage, that their 
master’s best policy was to get the coffin of the 
poor lad underground and out of sight as soon 
as possible, and to conciliate rather than exas- 
perate their people. 

Mrs. Wallace kept as constant a watch from 
her upper windows this day as sister Ann in 
Blue-beard. Many a cloud of dust did she fan- 
cy she saw on the distant road; many a time 
did she tremble when any sound came over the 
brow of the opposite hills. All her hopes were 
fixed on the highway ; all her fears upon the 
])ath to the churchyard. The safety of the con- 
cern -and perhaps of her husband seemed to de- 
pend on whether the civil or rebellious force 
should arrive first. It was not long doubtful. 

The crowd came pouring over the opposite 
ridge, not in order of march as they went, but 
pell mell, brandishing clubs and shouting as if. 
every man of them was drunk. In front was a 
horrid figure. It was the mother of the lad who 
had been placed in his grave without Christian 
burial. The funeral festival seemed likely to be 
as little Christian as the manner of interment. 


A TEMPEST. 


157 


to judge from the frantic screams of his mother, 
and the gestures with which she pointed to the 
works as the scene where the people must grat- 
ify their revenge. 

They made a sudden halt at the bottom of 
the hill, as if at the voice of a leader ; and then, 
forming themselves rapidly into a compact body, 
they marched almost in silence, but with extreme 
rapidity, till they had surrounded the building 
they meant first to attack. The laborers in it' 
had but just time to escape by a back way be- 
fore the doors were down and a hundred hands 
busy within knocking the machinery to pieces 
and gutting the place. This done, they went 
to a second and a third building, when there 
arose a sudden cry of ‘ fire ! ’ The leaders rush- 
ed out and saw indeed a volume of smoke mak- 
ing its way out of the doors and windows of 
one of the offices where the books were kept 
and the wages paid. The least ignorant among 
the rioters saw at a glance that this kind of des- 
struction would ensure the total ruin of the iron- 
work and of all belonging to it. With vehe- 
ment indignation, they raised three groans for 
the incendiary, and hastened to put out the fire 
and save the books and papers. At the door 


158 


A TllMPEST. 


they met the furious woman they had made one 
of their leaders, brandishing a torch and glory- 
ing in the act she had done. Her former com- 
panions looked full of rage, and shook their fists 
at her as they passed. 

‘ Stop her ! Lay her fast, or she will be the 
ruin of us all,’ cried several voices. With some 
difficulty this was done, and the poor wretch 
conveyed to her own house and locked in. 

It was a singular sight to see the gentlemen 
and Paul, and a portion of the mob, laboring 
together at the fire, while the rest of the rioters 
were pushing their work of destruction, unresist- 
ed but by the small force of orderly work peo- 
ple, which they soon put to flight. It was the 
aim of the leaders to show that they confined 
their vengeance to the machinery ; but when 
vengeance once begins, there is no telling where 
it will stop. The very sight of the fire was an 
encouragement to the evil disposed ; and many 
thefts were committed and much violence done, 
which had no connexion with machinery. 

Paul was among the most active of the defend- 
ers. Seeing that as many hands as could assist 
were engaged at the fire, he bethought himself 
of a building where there was a great deal of 


A TEMPEST. 


159 


valuable machinery, which was likely to fall a 
sacrifice, if undefended. He ran thither and 
found all quiet. He locked himself in and be- 
gan to barricade the windows. He had not 
half done when the rioters arrived, and, finding 
the door fastened, applied to the window. This 
was soon forced ; but then Paul appeared with 
a huge iron bar with which he threatened to 
break the skulls of all who came within reach. 
He stood at some height above them, so as to have 
greatly the advantage over them, and there was 
a moment’s pause. Some were for forcing the 
door, but they did not know how many iron bars 
might be ready there to fall on the heads of those 
who first entered. ‘ Smoke them out,’ was the 
cry at length, and half a dozen lighted torches 
were presently thrown in. Paul stamped out 
as many as he could reach with either foot, but 
while he was trying to do this with one which 
had already caught some light wood beside it, 
three men took advantage of his attention being 
divided to leap up the window, wrench his bar 
from him, and fling it down below. Paul lost 
not his presence of mind for a moment. He 
snatched up a blazing torch in each hand and 
thrust them in the faces of his enemies, who, 


160 


A TEMPEST. 


not much relishing this kind of salute, jumped 
down again whence they came. ‘ It is my turn 
to smoke out,’ cried he : but this was his last 
act of defence. The three men had been long 
enough on the window to perceive that Paul 
was the entire garrison of the place ; and while 
they kept up a show of attack at the window 
the door was forced, and the building filled with' 
out resistance. When it was about half gutted. 
Pan), thought he heard a welcome sound without 
above the crashing and cries within. It was the 
galloping of horse ; and the sabres of soldiers 
were soon seen glittering in the red light from the 
fire. They rode up and surrounded the building, 
making Paul, who was still astride on the win- 
dow, their first prisoner. He. smiled at this, 
knowing he should soon be set free ; but he was 
presently touched by the earnestness with which 
some of the guilty protested his innocence and 
begged his discharge. When one of the mas- 
ters came up and had him released, he had a 
painful duty to perform in pointing out which 
of the people who remained cooped up in the 
place had been the most guilty. He was, how- 
ever, sufficiently aware of its being a duty to do 
it without flinching ; and he marked the men 


A TEMPEST. 161 

who had first broken the window, thrown the 
first torches, and burst in the door. 

The work of destruction was now stopped ; 
but the state of things was little less wretched 
than if it had continued. The partners were 
seen in gloomy conference with the command- 
ing officer. The steady workmen, whose means 
of subsistence had been destroyed before their 
faces, stood with folded arms gazing on the 
smoke which slowly lose from the ruins. There 
was a dull silence in the empty building where 
the prisoners were guarded by a ring of soldiers, 
who sat like so many statues on their horses. 
At the houses of the partners there were senti- 
nels at the gates and before the parlor windows, 
and the ladies wdthin started every time a horse 
pawed the gravel walk. The anxious house- 
keeper, meantime, was trying to keep the fright- 
ened servants in order; for they had much to 
do in preparing refreshments for the soldiers. 
But, perhaps, the most wretched of all were 
those who hid their grief within their humble 
homes. The little children, who were forbid- 
den by their mothers to stray beyond the rows 
of the laborer’s cottages, came running in with 
tidings from time to time ; and many times did 


A TEMl'EST. 


W2 

tlie anxious wife, or sister, or mother, lift her 
head in the hope of hearing ‘ father is coming 
over the green,’ or ‘ John is safe, for here he is,’ 
or, ‘ now we shall hear all about it, for Will is 
telling neighbor so and so;’ and as often was 
the raised head drooped again when the news 
was ‘ neighbor such-a-one is a prisoner,’ or 
‘ neighbor Brown is crying because her son is 
going to jail,’ or ‘Mary Dale is gone down to 
try and get sight of her husband, it the soldiers 
will let her ; for she won’t belie>ebe set fire to 
any place.’ 

Again and again the children resolved, ‘ I 
won’t go in to mother any more till she has 
done crying,’ and again some fresh piece of bad 
news sent them in to make the tears flow afresh. 

It was found that the prisoners could not be 
removed till the next day ; and when food, and 
drink, and straw to sleep on was being sup- 
plied to them, it was melancholly to see how 
the relations of the men wandered about hoping 
to find means to speak to one or another. Many 
an entreaty was addressed to the soldiers just to 
be permitted to step up to the window between 
the horses, and see whether John, or Will, or 
George wanted any thing or had any thing to 


A TEMPEST. 


163 


say. This could not of course be allowed ; but 
it was long after dark before the last lingerer 
had shut herself into her cheerless home to 
watch for the morning. 

That morning rose fair and bright as a June 
morning can be. Mr. Wallace opened the 
shutters of his drawing room, where, with Mr. 
Bernard, he had passed the night, arranging 
plans for their next proceedings, and writing 
letters to their partners in London respecting 
the readiest mode of closing their concern ; and 
to their law officers, respecting the redress which 
they should obtain for the injury done to their 
property. The crimson light of the dawn, the 
glittering of the dew on the shrubs, and the 
chirruping of the waking birds, were so beauti- 
ful a contrast to the lamp-light and silence with- 
in, that Mr. Wallace felt his spirits rise at once. 
They were at once depressed, however, when he 
saw the glancing of weapons in the first rays of 
the sun, and observed that the furnaces were out, 
and that all the scene, usually so busy, was as 
still as if it had been wasted by the plague. 
Manly as he was, and well as he had sustainec 
himself and every body about him till now, he 

could not bear these changes of feeling ; and 
L 


164 


A TEMPEST. 


tears, of which he had no reason to be ashamed, 
rolled down his cheeks. 

‘ You dread the sending off the prisoners,’ 
said his partner. ‘ So do I, and the sooner we 
can get it done the better.’ 

They therefore went out and saw that their 
sentinels were properly refreshed, and that every 
thing was prepared for their departure as speed- 
ily as might be. No one who walked about 
the place that morning could think for a mo- 
ment that any further violence was to be appre- 
hended. The most restless spirits were wel 
guarded ; and of those who were at large, all, 
the injurers and the injured, seemed equally 
subdued by sorrow and fear. 

Just as the great clock of the works struck 
eight, a waggon drew up to the door of the 
building where the prisoners were confined. In 
a few minutes thetwhole population was on the 
spot. The soldiers kept a space clear, and 
obliged the people to form' a half-circle, within 
which stood the partners and the commanding 
officer ; and here the relations of each prisoner 
were allowed to come as he was brought out. 
The parting was so heart-breaking a scene that 
it was found necessary to shorten it ; and for 


A TEMPEST. 


165 


the sake of the sufferers themselves, it was 
ordered that they should take one farewell em- 
brace. Some took a shorter leave still ; for 
there were wives and sisters — though not one 
mother — who would not own a relation in dis- 
grace, and hid themselves when entreated by 
the prisoners to come and say Farewell. This 
entreaty was not in one instance repeated. A 
look of gloomy displeasure was all the further 
notice taken by the culprit, as he mounted to 
his seat in the waggon. 

At length, the last prisoner was brought out ; 
the soldiers formed themselves round the wag- 
gon, and it drove off, amidst a chorus of lamen- 
tation from the crowd. Almost every face was 
turned to watch, till it was out of sight ; but 
some few stole into the place which had lately 
been a prison, and sank down in the straw to 
hide their shame and their tears. 

The partners thought that no time could be 
fitter than this for explaining to the assembled 
people the present state of affairs as it regarded 
them, and the prospect which lay before them. 
Mr. Wallace, who, as longest known to the 
people, had agreed to make this explanation, 
mounted to the window of a neighboring build- 


166 


A TEMPEST. 


ing, and, while Mr. Bernard and his sons stood 
beside him, thus addressed the crowd below : 

‘ It is partly for our own sakes, though chiefly 
for yours, that we now offer to explain to you 
the condition and prospects of this concern. 
We still say, what we have often said, that we 
are accountable to no man for our manner of 
conducting our own affairs ; but we wish you 
clearly to understand why we close our iron- 
work, in order that you may see that we can- 
not help doing so, and that it is through no act 
of ours that so many industrious and sober la- 
borers are turned out of work in one day. We 
make this explanation for your sakes ; because 
we hope that those among you who have been 
guilty of the intention, if not the deed of riot, 
will learn the folly as well as the sin of such 
proceedings, and that those who are innocent 
will train up their children in such a knowledge 
of facts as will prevent their ever bringing de- 
struction on themselves and others by such er- 
rors as have ruined our concern. 

‘ When we came here to settle, an agreement 
was made, in act if not in words, between the 
two classes who hoped to make profit out of 
these works. You offered your labor in return 


A TEMPEST. 


167 


fora subsistence paid out of our capital. We 
spent the money we and our fathers had earned 
in buying the estate, building the furnaces, 
making or improving roads, and paying the 
wages which were your due. Both parties were 
satisfied with an agreement by which both were 
gainers, and hoped that it would long be main- 
tained without difficulty or misunderstanding. 
ISo promise was or could reasonably be made 
as to how long the labor should be furnished on 
the one side and the capital on the other, in the 
same proportions ; for it was impossible for 
either party to tell what might happen to the 
other. It was possible that so great a demand 
for labor might take place in some other manu- 
factory as to justify your asking us for higher 
wages, or leaving us if we did not think proper 
to give them. It was equally possible that the 
prices of our manufacture might fall so as to 
justify us in lowering your wages, or in getting 
a part of our work done without your assist- 
ance. 

‘ Nothing was said, therefore, about the 
length of time that your labor and our capital 
were to work together : and it was well that 
there was not ; for in time both of the changes 


166 


A TEMPEST. 


happened which I have described. First, the 
demand for labor increased so much that yon 
asked higher wages, which we cheerfully gave, 
because the prosperous state of trade pointed 
them out as your due. After a while, the oppo- 
site change took place. Demand declined, 
prices fell, and we could not afford to give you 
such high wages, and you agreed to take less, 
and again less, as trade grew worse. So far both 
parties were of one mind. Both felt the change 
of times, and were sorry on account of all , but 
neither supposed that the other could have 
helped the misfortune. The point on which 
they split — unhappily for both — was the intro- 
duction of new machinery.’ 

Here there was a murmur and a bustle among 
the people below, which seemed to betoken 
that they were unwilling to hear. Some, how- 
ever, were curious to know what Mr. Wallace 
would say, and cried ‘ Silence ! ’ ‘ Hush ! ’ with 
so much effect that the speaker was soon able 
to proceed. 

‘ As no profit can be made, no production 
raised from the ground, or manufactured in the 
furnace or the loom, or conveyed over land and 
sea, without the union of capital and labor, it is 


A TEMPEST. 


169 


clear that all attempts to divide the two are 
foolish and useless. As all profit is in propor- 
tion to the increase of labor and capital, as all 
the comforts every man enjoys become more 
common and cheap in proportion as these two 
grow in amount, it is clear that it must be for 
the advantage of every body that labor and cap- 
ital should be saved to the utmost, that they 
may grow as fast as possible. The more capi- 
tal and labor, for instance, there is spent upon 
procuring and preparing mahogany, the more 
cheap will be mahogany tables and chairs, and 
the more common in the cottage of the work- 
ing classes. In the same way, broad-cloth was 
once a very expensive article, because very few 
attempted to manufacture it ; but now, when 
many more capitalists have set up their manu- 
factories of broad-cloth, and much more labor 
is spent upon it, every decent man has his cloth 
coat for Sundays. In like manner, the more 
capital and labor can be saved to be employed 
the iron trade, the cheaper and more common 
will iron be : and if it be an evil to us that it is 
already cheaper, we must find a remedy in 
making it more common, more extensively 
used, so that the quantity we sell may make up 


170 


A TEMPEST. 


for the lowering of the price. It is plain, then 
that all economy of capital and labor is a good 
thing for every body in the long run. How is 
this saving to be effected ? 

‘ Capital is made to grow by adding to it as 
much as can be spared of the profit it brings. 
We all know that if a hundred pounds brings 
in five pounds interest at the year’s end, and if 
two of the five pounds only are spent, the capi- 
tal of the next year will be a hundred and three 
pounds, and the interest five pounds, three shil- 
lings ; and so on, increasing every year. This 
is the way capital grows by saving. Labor 
does not grow by saving in like manner ; but 
methods of improving and economizing it have 
been found ; and more are invented every year 
Labor is saved by machinery, when a machine 
either does what man cannot do so well, or when 
it does in a shorter time, or at a less expense, 
the work which man can do equally well in oth- 
er respects. This last was the case with our 
new machinery. It did not, like the furnaces 
and rollers, do what man could not do ; but it 
did in a quicker and cheaper manner what man 
had hitherto done. It was a saving of labor ; 
and as all saving of labor is a good thing, our 
machinery was a good thing. 


A TEMPEST. 


171 


‘ You wish to interrupt me, I see. You wish 
to say that though it is a good thing for us cap- 
italists, it is not for you laborers. Hear me 
while I show you the truth. If we could have 
brought back the state of the world to what it 
was four years ago ; if we could have made the 
foreign iron-works melt into air, and some near- 
er home sink into the ground ; if we could have 
made the demand what it once was, and have 
raised the prices to the highest ever known, 
you would not have cared whether we put up 
machinery or not, because there would have 
been employment enough for every body, not- 
withstanding. You care for it now because it 
throws some people out of work ; but you should 
remember that it has also kept many busy, w'ho 
must be idle, now that it is destroyed. We 
should be as glad as you if there was work 
enough for all the men and all the machinery 
together that our concern could contain ; but 
when changes, which we could not prevent or 
repair, brought before us the question whether 
we should employ two-thirds of our people with 
machinery or none without, we saw it to be for 
the interests of all to set up our new laborers 
in the midst of the grumblings of the old. We 


172 


A TEMPEST. 


tell you plainly that we could not have employ- 
ed any of you for the last six months, but for 
the saving caused by the new machinery ; and 
that, now it is gone, we can employ none of you 
any longer. 

‘ You may say that the county will repair our 
losses, and that we may soon build up what is 
destroyed, and go on as before. It is true that 
the damages must be paid out of the public 
fund ; but it is not so true that a remedy will 
thus be found for the distress which violence 
has brought upon you. The state of trade 
being what it is, and confidence being so com- 
pletely destroyed between the two parties to the 
original contract, there is little encouragement 
to enter on a new one. My partner and his 
family will depart immediately. I shall remain 
with a very few men under me to assist in dis- 
posing of our stock and to wind up the con- 
cern ; and then this place, lately so busy, and 
so fruitful of the necessaries and comforts of 
life to so many hundred persons, will present a 
melancholy picture of desertion and ruin. If, in 
after years, any of your descendants, enriched 
by the labors of generations, should come hither 
and provide the means of enriching others, may 


A TEMPEST. 


173 


they meet with more success than we have 
done ! May they have to do with men informed 
respecting the rights and interests of society, as 
happy in their prosperity as you once were, and 
more patient and reasonable in adversity ! 

‘ If these should ever inquire respecting the 
transactions of this day, it will strike them that 
the revenge which you have snatched — for I am 
told you call it revenge — is as foolish as it is 
wicked. Of all the parties concerned in this 
outrage, your masters suffer the least — though 
their sufferings are not small — and yourselves 
the most. Your occupation is gone ; the public 
resources, to which many here have contributed 
must be wasted in repairing the damage intend- 
ed for us ; and, worst of all, disgrace and the 
penalties of the law await many with whom 
you are closely connected. Having enjoyed 
from their birth the security and various bene- 
fits of the social state, they have thought fit to 
forfeit their privileges by a breach of the laws ; 
and they must take the consequences. How 
many of the guilty are now mourning that those 
consequences cannotbe confined to themselves ! 
How many — but I will not pursue this subject 
further, for I see you cannot bear it. I only 


174 


A TEMPEST. 




entreat those of you who hold your children by 
the hand, and see them wondering at the 
mournful solemnities of this day, to impress 
upon them that the laws must be obeyed, and to 
assure them from your own experience that, 
however sad undeserved poverty may be, it is 
easily endurable in comparison with the thought 
which will haunt some of you to your dying 
day — “my own hands have brought this misery 
upon myself, and upon those who look up to 
me for bread.” 

‘ I have only to add that which it may be a 
satisfaction to some of you to know, that we 
freely forgive to such the injury they have med- 
itated against us. We are indeed too deeply 
concerned for your misfortunes to have much 
thought to bestow upon our own. Farewell.’ 

The people slowly and silently dispersed, and 
few showed their faces abroad again that day. 


ALL OUIET AGAIN. 


175 


CHAPTER IX 

ALL QUIET AGAIN. 

Paul was one of the very few whom his em- 
ployer selected to remain with him till the stock 
should be sold off and the concern closed. The 
Jones family had been one of the first to depart 
of the many who were gone to seek employ- 
ment and a home. They settled in the place 
where their sons were apprenticed to different 
trades, and where they had a good name for 
honesty, industry, and prudence. The fund 
which they had saved in better days was suffi- 
cient to maintain them for some time, if, as was 
not likely, people so respectable should find it 
difficult to obtain employment. They left P.aul 
in possession of their cottage, as he was unwil- 
ling to shift his work-bench, or leave off cut- 
ting corks till the last moment. 

As he was thus employed late one evening, 
Mr. and Mrs. Wallace came to him. Mr. 
Wallace had heard from a friend of his engaged 
in a neighboring iron-work, who wished to know 


176 


ALL QUIET AGAIN. 


whether an able over-looker could be recom- 
mended to him from among those who would 
be thrown out by the closing concern. Mr. 
Wallace was glad of this opportunity of securing 
a good situation for Paul, to whom he felt him- 
self greatly indebted for his conduct during the 
riots, and whom he knew to be competent to 
the duties of such an office. Paul was duly 
obliged by this offer, but requested time to con- 
sider of it, as he had already the choice of two 
modes of investing his little capital,— one in a 
shop in London, and another in a Birmingham 
concern. 

Mr. Wallace was surprised at the good for- 
tune which placed before one man, in days like 
these, three employments to choose out of. 
Paul answered, with a stern smile, that he owed 
it to his reputation of being a miser: misers 
having two good qualifications for partnership, 
— the possession of money, and a close attach- 
ment to the main chance. 

‘I wish I could see any aim in this desperate 
pursuit of money,’ said Mr. Wallace, gravely. 

Paul answered by going into the inner room 
and bringing out the picture which hung there. 

‘ Can you guess who that is ? ’ said he. 


ALL QUIET AGAIN. 


77 


‘ It has occurred to me that it mi^ht be your- 
self; but I can trace little or no likeness now.’ 

‘ No wonder,’ said Paul, looking at his black- 
ened hands and sordid dress. ‘ It is not my- 
self, however, but a brother, — an only, elder 
brother, who died when I was twenty, and he 
twenty-one, just entering on the enjoyment of 
his property.’ 

‘ And did that property come to you ? ’ asked 
Mis. Wallace in surprise. 

‘ Every acre of it, with the mansion you see 
there. I lost it all by gaming and other pleas- 
ures — pleasures indeed ! — and in ten years wair 
sitting in rags, without a crust in my wallet, as 
beggars usually have, on yonder hill, where I 
traced the map of my future fortunes. I have 
an aim, sir. It is to get back that estate ; to 
plant an oak for every one that has been felled ; 
and to breed a buck for every one that has been 
slain since the gates were shut upon me for a 
graceless profligate.’ 

‘Do you think you should be able to enjoy 
your property if you got it back again ? ’ asked 
Mr. Wallace. ‘Or, perhaps, there is some 
family connexion to whom you wish to restore 
it by will ? ’ 


178 


ALT. QUIKT AGAIN. 


‘ Neither the one nor the other/ replied Paul 

‘ I have not a relation in the world ; and I 
see as clearly as you can do, that I shall be by 
that time too confirmed in my love of money to 
enjoy the pleasures of a fine estate. I shall 
screw my tenants, and grudge my venison, and 
sell all the furniture of the house but that of 
two rooms.’ 

* Then do propose to yourself some more 
'ational object?’ said Mrs. Wallace, kindly. 

Let those have your estate who can enjoy it, 
and leave oflT accumulating money before it is 
00 late. As soon as you have enough to buy 
rnd furnish a cottage, and afford a small income 
give up your business, and occupy yourself with 
books, and politics, and works of benevolence, 
and country sports and employments ; with 
any thing that may take off your attention from 
the bad pursuit which is ruining your health, 
and your mind, and your reputation.’ 

‘If you do not,’ said Mr. Wallace, ‘I shall 
wish, as the best thing that could happen to 
you, that you may lose all your gains.’ 

Paul raised his clenched fist, and ground his 
teeth at the mention of such a possibility. Mrs. 
Wallace turned pale at such a symptom of pas 
sion ; but she thought it right to add, 


ALL QUIET AGAIN. 


179 


‘ You have twice had warning of the fleeting 
nature of riches. You have lost your own for- 
tune, and seen the prosperity of this place over- 
thrown. If you still make wealth your god, I 
hope you prepare yourself to find it vanish when 
you need it most. I hope you picture to your- 
self what it will be to die destitute of that for 
which alone you have lived.’ 

‘ Yet this,’ added her husband, ‘ is a better 
lot than to live and die miserable in the posses- 
sion of that for which alone he has lived. Take 
your choice, Paul ; for the one lot or the other 
will be yours unless you make a grand effort 
now.’ 

Paul was not inclined to dispute this ; but he 
was not, therefore, the more disposed to make 
the effort. He was pronounced by every body 
a man of strong character. Whatever pride he 
had in himself was in his strength of character. 
Yet he was weak, — weak as an idiot, — in the 
most important point of all. 

He was once seen to smile compassionately 
on the perseverance of a little child who labored 
through a whole sultry day in digging a little 
pond in his garden. By the time it was finish- 
ed, and before it could be filled it was bed-time, 
and a rainy night rendered it useless. 

M 


180 


ALL QUIET AGAIN. 


When Paul despised the labor of this child, 
he little thought how his own life would resem- 
ble that sultry day. He, too, spent his sun.shiny 
hours in laborious preparation ; and fell into his 
long sleep to find on waking that his toil had 
been in vain. 

When the Wallaces at length took their final 
leave of the place, they alighted at Armstrong’s 
on their way, to say Farewell. The old man 
was, as usual, in his garden. 

‘ Are you the last, the very last ?’ said he. 

‘Except two or three workmen and servants 
who stay to pack a few things and lock up our 
house.’ 

‘ I hope then they will take down yonder 
clock which sounds to me like a funeral bell.’ 

‘ Can you hear it so far as this 

‘ 0 yes. Hark! It is beginning to strike noon 
I used to like its stroke when it brought the 
work-people flocking from their cottages in the 
morning, or when they came pouring out as it 
told their dinner hour. But now it only puts 
one in mind of days that are gone, and I shall 
be glad when it is down.’ 

‘ You do then see something to regret in the 
days you speak of?’ said Mr. Wallace. ‘This 
is more than I expected from you.’ 


ALL QUIET AGAIN. 


181 


‘ I might not say so, perhaps,’ returned the 
old man ‘ if yonder valley could be made what 
it once was. But that can never be : and there 
is no comparison between a settlement where 
art and industry thrive, and a greater number 
of human beings share its prosperity every year, 
and a scene like that, where there is every thing 
to put one in mind of man biit man himself.’ 

‘And where,’ said Mr. Wallace, ‘we are 
chiefly reminded of the ignorance and folly to 
which the change is owing. I should wish for 
your sake that we could raze all those buildings, 
and make the ground a smooth turf as it was 
before, if I did not hope that the works might 
be reopened, — though not by us, — in happier 
days.’ 

‘ I should be more glad to see such a day than 
I was to witness that which brought you here,’ 
said the old man. ‘ But my sands are nearly 
run ; and, even if nobody shakes the glass, I 
can scarcely hope that any thing will bring you 
back within my hour. — But come,’ he added, 
swallowing his emotion, ‘ where’s your lady.?’ 

‘ Gone to speak to Mrs. Margaret. Will you 
gather her a bunch of your flowers before we 


18-2 


ALL QUIKT AGAIN. 


‘ Aye, and a choice one ; for she is a choice 
flower herself,’ said the old man. ‘ From the 
hour that I saw her walking over the heath in 
the wintry wind in her cloak and thick shoes to 
show a poor neighbor how to manage a new- 
dropt calf, I pronounced you, sir, a happy man. 
Whatever fortune betides you, you will find a 
companion and helper in her.’ 

Mrs. Wallace appeared in time to put a stop 
to further praise of herself. She had left Mrs. 
Margaret engaged in admiration of a painting 
by the lady’s own hands, which she wished to 
leave as a remembrance, and which thenceforth 
ornamented the chimney-piece of the cottage, 
and occasioned more discourse than any other 
possession they had ever had. 

Armstrong handed the lady gently down to 
the chaise. When it was out of sight, he was 
a long time tethering the gate; and the house- 
keeper observed that he drew his hand across 
his eyes as he turnsd into his orchard nlo* 


EKOCH STOUaAlJ’S SONS' 



0LKAK3 

WINDOWS, 
MABBLE, 

NIVEa 

POLTSBBS 
TIN-WA , 
JBON,STEEL.<fe<T. 





tJ-iaA-TTIDg A-HSTD ’CTPIilG-in? ZP^LAJETOS, 

The demands now made by an educated musical public are se 
exacting, that very few piano-forte manufacturers can produce instru- 
ments that will stand the test which merit requires. 

SOHAIER & Co., as manufacturers, rank among this chosen few, 
who are acknowledged to be makers of standard instruments. In 
these days when many manufacturers urge the low price of their 
wares, rather than their superior quality, as an inducement to pur- 
chase, it may not be amiss to suggest that, in a piano, quality and 
price are too inseparably joined, to expect the one without the other. 

Every piano ought to be judged as to the quality of its tone, its 
touch, and its workmanship ; if any one of these is wantiiig in excel- 
lence, however good the others may be, the instrument will be imper- 
fect. It is the combination of all these qualities in the highest degree 
that constitutes the perfect piano, and it is such a combination, as has 
given the S OHMER its hono rable posit ion with the trade and public. 

Pricesas reasonableasconsi?tent 
with the Highest Standard. 

MANUFACTURERS, 

l49tol55Eastl4tliSt.,li.t 




THE BEST 

WASHING COMPOUND 

EVER INVENTED. 

No Lady* Married or 
Single, Rich or Poor, 
Housekeeping or Board- 
ing, will be without it 
after testing its utility. 

Sold by all first-clase 
Grocers, but bewaro of 
wf>'’+hless imHations. 



LOVELL’S LIBRARY ADVERTISER. 


I^EOEISTTLY PUBLISHED. 

False Hopes; 

OR, 

FALLACIES. SOCIALISTIC AND SEMI-SBCIALISTIC, 
BRIEFLY ANSWERED. 


An Address, by Prof. GOLDWIN SMITH, D.C.L. 


No. 110, Lovell’s Library 15 cents 

“ This is the title of a pamphlet in which Mr. Goldv/in Smith dissects and 
lays hare, in the most unimpassioned way, bnt with the keenest of literary 
scalpels, the fallacies involved in communism, socialism, nationalization of 
laud, strikes, the various plans in vogue for emancipating labor from the 
dominion of capital, Protection, and some theories of innovation with regard to 
Currency and Banking. The great number and prevalence of these diseases of 
the body politic are, he thinks, mainly due to the departure or decline of re- 
ligious faith, which is so noticeable a feature of the present age; to popular 
education, which has gone far enough to make the masses think, but not think 
deeply ; to the ostentation of the vulgar rich, who ‘deserve, fully as much as 
the revolutionary artisans, the name of a dangerous class;’ to the democratic 
movement of the times ; and, to the revolution in science which has helped 
to excite the spirit of change in every sphere, little as Utopianism is akin to 
science.’ ’’—Twonfo Globe. 


MR. SCARBOROUGH’S FAMILY 

By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 


1 vol., 12mo., cloth, gilt $1.03 

1 “ “ paper 50 

Also in Lovell’s Library, No. 133, 2 parts, each 15 


“ In ‘ Mr. Scarborough’s Family ’there is abundance of ‘go,’ there are 
many striking scenes, and there is one character at least which is original 
almost to incredibility. There are light sketches of social life, one or two of 
them nearly in the author's best manner and many chapters which are ex- 
tremely entertaining. The story is so life-like and so extremely readable, that 
we lay it down with a pleasure largely leavened with XQgxQV'— Saturday 
Review. 

" ' Mr. Scarborough’s Family ’ is a very enjoyable novel. Mr. Trollope has 
never given us two stronger or less commonplace characters than that terrible 
old pagan, John Scarborough, and his attorney. Grey, whom we agree with his 
employer in describing as ‘ the sweetest and finest gentleman ’ we ever came 
across. ” — Academy. 

‘“Mr Scarborough’s Family ’ recalls all those features in Mr. Trollope’s 
books which have made them the pleasure and instruction of generations of 
novel readers. He is in his old vein, and he has a story to tell that is infinitely 
amusing. Mr. Scarborough is a wonderful study. There is, indeed, no char- 
acter in the book that has not been carefully thought out. There is a delight- 
ful freshness about Florence Mount joy. She is a fiauk, outspoken damsel, 
whose mind is as healthy as her body. It is needless to say that the talk 
throughout the book is good. The novel as a whole, indeed, is one that will 
make readers regret more bitterly than ever that he who wrote it has gone from 
amongst mb."— Scotsman. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 14 & 16 Vesey St., N. Y. ! 


JUST PUBLISHSB. 

“OUIDA’S” Last and Greatest Novel, 

WANDA, 

COUNTESS VON SZALRAS. 

By “OUIDA,” 

Author of “Under Two Flags,” “Moths,” etc. 

1 irol., 12mo., Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Also in Lovell’s Library, 
No. 112, 12mo , two parts, each 15 Cents. 

“ The hand haa lost none of its matchless cunning. There are the same 
vivid glimpses— real glimpses— of nature, but le^-s abandon and profusion; the 
same intense revelations of seething seas of human anguish, but all toned to 
milder measures. The heart has grown richer and mellower with years, and 
there is more spirit and human insight in ‘Wanda’ than in scores of the ‘leading 
novels’ of the day. It is full of touching, tender pathos, and for entertainment 
is a perfect Philadelphia Times. 

“ Is one of the gifted ‘Ouida’s’ most brilliant efforts, and will, no doubt, be 
highly appreciated.^’— W. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

“ The latest novel from the pen of the brilliant and prolific ‘Ouida.’ It is 
a powerful and fascinating work of fiction, deeply interesting, with excellent 
character portrayal, and written in that sparkling style for which ‘Ouida,’ is 
famops. It deserves to take rank by the side of the best of her previous novols, 
and will, undoubtedly, be eagerly sought by her many admirers.”— Washingion 
Post. 

“ This is a Russian story, and of unusual interest.” —St. Louis Bepublican. 

“ It is in her best style ” — Progress. ._ 

“ The pen that wrote ‘Strathmore,’ ‘Signa,’ etc., could produce nothing 
dull. The authoress knows how to warm the feelings and intensify passion; 
her plots are all fascinating and of absorbing interest, and ‘Wanda’ will be 
found to sustain the brilliant reputation of its vitUqt."— P hiladelphia Chronicle- 
Herald. 

UNIFORM WITH ABOVE. 

UNDER TWO FLAGS, 

By “ OUIDA, 

1 vol., 12mo., Cloth, Gilt, $1.00. Paper Covers, 50 Cents. Also in Lovell’s 
Library, No. 127, two pans, each 20 Cents. 

A New Novel by the Author of “MKS. GEOFFREY.** 

LOYS, LORD BERESFORD. 

' By The “ DUCHESS.” 

Author of “ Molly Bawn,” “ Faith and Unfaith,” “Mrs. Geoffrey,” “Portia,” 

etc. 

1 vol., 12mo., Cloth, Gilt, $1.00. Paper Covers, 50 Cents. Also in Lovell’s 
Library, No. 126, 20 Cents. 

“ The same characteristics that have made all the novels of this author 
BO immensely popular pervade this last story— life, sparkle, lovely character 
sketching, richly dramatic (high comedy) Situations, and the raciest kind of 
colloquial style. 

JOH.Y W. LOTELL COMPANJ, 

Publishers, 14c& 16 Vesey St., New York. * 


WOMAN’S Place To-day.' 

Four lectures in reply to the Lenten lectures on “‘Womati, •' Tiy tue llev. / 
Morgan Dix, D.D,, of Trinity Church, New York./ 

By Lillie Devereux Blake. 

No, 104, liOVELIj’S lilBRARlT, Paper Covers, 20 Cents, 
Clotli Limp, 50 Cents, 

Mrs, Lillie Devereux Blake last evening entertained an audience that filled 
Frobisher’s Hall, in East Fourteenth Street, by a witty and sarcastic handling 
of the recent Lenten talk of the Kev. Dr. Morgan Dix on the follies of women 
of society. — New York Times. 

Mrs. Lillie Devereux Blake is a very eloquent lady, and a thorn in the side 
of the Rev. Dr. Dix, and gentlemen who, like him, presume to say that woman 
is not man’s equal, if not his superior. Mrs. Blake in her reply to Dr. Dix’s 
recent lecture upon “ Divorce, ’* made some interesting remarks upon the sex 
to which she has the honor to belong. — New York Commercial Advertiser. 

There is no denying that Mrs. Blake has, spartan-like, stood as a break-water 
to the surging flood Rector Dix has cast upon the so-called weaker sex with 
the hope of engulfing it. It is sad to see a gentleman in the position Dr. Dix 
occupies setting himself deliberately at work to not only bring reproach upon 
the female sex, but to make us all look with comtempt upon our 'mothers and 
sisters. And the worst of his case is that he has shown that spirit in the male 
part of mankind, which is not at all creditable to it, of depreciating the in- 
tellect, the judgment, the ability and the capability of the female sex i.n order 
to elevate to a higher plane the male sex. According to Dr. Dix the world 
would be better were there no more female children born. And he makes 
this argument in the face of the fact that there would be “hell upon earth” 
were it not for the influence of women, and such women as Mrs. lallie Devereux 
Blake, especially. — Albany Sunday Press. 


Mrs. Blake’s was the most interesting and spicy speech of the evening. She 
was in a sparkling mood and hit at everything and everybody that came to 
her mind.— YAe Evening Telegram. N. Y. 

A stately lily of a woman, with delicate features, a pair of great gray eyes that 
dilate as she speaks till they light her whole face like two great soft stars. — The 
Independent. N. Y. 

* * * She advanced to the front of the platform, gesticulated gracefully 
and spoke vigorously, defiantly and without notes.— York Citizen. 

* * * a most eloquent and polished oration. The peroration was a grand 
burst of eloquence. — Troy Times. 

Lillie Devereux Blake, blonde, brilliant, staccate, stylish, is a fluent speaker, 
of good platform presence, and argued wittily and well.— Post. 

There are very few speakers on the platform who have the brightness, 
vivacity and fluency of Lillie Devereux Blake. — Albany Svnday Press. 

She is an easy, graceful sneaker, and wide-awake withal, bringing our fre- 
quent applause. — Hartford Times. 

Mrs. Blake's address was forcible and eloquent. The speaker was frequently 
interrupted by applause. — New York Times. 

The most brilliant lady speaker in the city. — Nev: York Herald. 

Has the reputation of being the wittiest woman on the platform. — San An- 
tonio Express. 

Mrs. Blake, who has a most pleasing address, then spoke ; a strong vein of 
sarcasm, wit and humor pervaded the lady’s XQ.vas.x'&^&.— Poughkeepsie News, 

For Sale by all Ne-wsdealers and Booksellers 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street, New York. 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY 


AHEAD OF ALL COMPETITORS. 


The improvements being constantly made in ‘^Lovell’s 
Library ” have placed it in the Front Rank of cheap publi- 
cations in this country. The publishers propose to still 
further improve the series by having 

B£TT£R PAPER, 

BETTER PRINTING, 

LARGER TYPE, 

and more attractive cover than any other series in the market. 


SEE 'WH.A.T IS S-A.II3 OE IT: 

The following extract from a letter recently received 
shows the appreciation in which the Library is held by those 
who most constantly read it: 

** Mercantile Library, } 
“Baltimore, August 29, 1883. f 

“ Will you kindly send me two copies of your latest list ? I am 
glad to see that you now issue a volume every day- Your Library we 
find greatly preferable to the ‘ Seaside ’ and ‘ Franklin Square ’ Series, 
and even better than the 12mo. form of the latter, the page being of 
better shape, the lines better leaded, and the words better spaced. 
Altogether your series is much more in favor with our subscribers than 
either of its rivals. 

“ S. C. DONALDSON, Assistant Librarian.” 


JOHN' W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

1-4 Sc 13 "Vesey Street, ISTe'^v Yorlt.. 


THE JUMBO OF JEST BOOKS 


ALL THE ELEPHANTS OF A LASTING POPULARITY 
ARE TO BE FOUND IN 

Jets and Flashes. 

A complete humoristic menagerie, a grotesque and superbly appointed cir- 
cus, and a rib-tickling side-show. 

EPITOMIZED WISDOM. DELIEIODS SENTIMENT. ENTHEALLING 
PHILOSOPHY. QUIZZICAL PAEAGEAPHS. SOUL-THRILLING 
DOGGEEEL. MIRTH-FREIGHTED SKETCHES. 

General Admission, Twenty Cents. No Extra Charge for the Picture Gallery. 

DIRECTORS OF THE SHOW: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANV, 

14 & 16 Vesey St., New 'York City. 
Ring Master: Henry Clay Lukens. Scenic Artist: Rend Bache. 


UNIQUE COMPLIMENTS FROM INTELLECTUAL ATHLETES. 

♦ ♦ * * In brief, I look upon “Jets and Flashes” as the most brilliant rival 
either Forepaugh or myself have ever tussled with. 

PHINEAS TAYLOR BARNUM. 


That nothing shall be wanting to make my steam yacht voyage around the 
world an electrical success, I have decided to illuminate the boat with ” Jets 
and Flashes ” and tender to Erratic Enrique the first choice of staterooms. 

Yours, in the bonds, JAY GOULD. 


Windsor Castle. 

Victoria, Queen of Great Britain, Empress of India, and admirer of Erratic 
Enrique, sends loving regards to the wise and hilarious philosopher of the 
New York News, and offers him the freedom of London in a tin box — ot sar- 
dines. One application of “ Jets and Flashes ” obliterated her Grace’s lame- 
ness and enabled her to resume an kneesy life. 


[TELEGRAM FROM BENJAMIN B.] 

Tewksbury, Mass. 

It has just leaked out- that the real reason Harvard refused to LL.D. the un- 
dersigned was that he had announced his intention of indorsing “Jets and 
Flashes ” as a text-book to all the schools of the Bay State. 


PRESIDENTIAL MANSION. 

__ _ -n, „ , Washington, D. C. 

My Dear Enrique: — I ve no longer any aspirations for a second term. Since 
the publication of your new volume of grimaces, politics, tome, has bf^come 
as flat as a defeated candidate’s pocketbook. You have earned a cabinet po- 
sition and would get it, but I can’t coax either Folger or Brewster to resign. 

Affectionately, CHET. 


[BY CABLE.l 

Marquis Tseng, the Chinese Ambassador, informed the editor of Oatilois, 
that a hitch had occurred in the negotiations betw'een France and China, but 
he hoped for a pa'^ific solution of the difliculty as soon as “ Jets and Flasks ’ ’ 
brightened up the glowering war cloud. 


-OB- 


9 


BUMBLEPUPPY? 


Ten Lectures addressed to Cliildren. 

By PEMBRIDGE. 

I vol., i2mo., cloth, limp, - - - .50 

Also in Lovell’^ Library, No. i8i, - - .10 


‘Whist, or Bumblepuppy ? ’ is one of the most enter- 
taining and at the same time one of the soundest books on 
whist ever written. Its drollery may blind some readers 
to the value of its advice; no man who knows anything 
about whist, however, will fail to read it with interest, 
and few will fail to read it with advantage. Upon the 
ordinary rules of whist, Pembridge supplies much 
sensible and thoroughly amusing comment. The best 
player in the world may gain from his observations, and a 
mediocre player can scarcely find a better counsellor. 
There is scarcely an opinion expressed with which we do 
not coincide .” — London Sunday Times. 

“We have been rather lengthy in our remarks on this 
- book, as it is the best attempt we have ever seen to shame 
very bad players into trying to improve, and also because 
it abounds with most sensible maxims, dressed up in a very 
amusing and palatable form .” — London Field. 

JOHN W. LOVELL OO., 

14 & 16 Vesey St., New York. 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY ADVERTISER. 


RECENTLY PUBLISHED; 

UNDERGROUND RUSSIA: 

Revolutionary Profiles and Sketches from Life. 

By STEPNIAK, formerly Editor of “ Zemlia i Volia” (Land and 
Liberty). With a Preface by PETER LAVROPF. Translated 
from the Italian. 1 vol. 12mo., paper cover, Lovell’s Library, 
No. 173 price 20 cents. 

“ The book is as yet unique in literature; it is a priceless contribution to 
our knowledge of Russian thought and feeling; as a true and faithful reflection 
of certain aspects of, perhaps, the most tremendous polilicial movement m 
history, it seems destined to become a standard work.”— Athen.euii. 


An Outline of the History of Ireland, 

From the Earliest Times to the present day. 

By JUSTIN H. McCARTHY. 1 vol. 12mo., Lovell’s Library 
No. 115, price 10 cents 

‘‘A timely and exceedingly vigorous and interesting little volume The book 
is worthy of attentive perusal, and will be all the more interesting because it 
involves in its production the warm sympathies, the passionate enthusiasm, and 
the vivid brilliancy of style which one is glad to welcome from the son of the 
distinguished Journalist and author ' —Christian World. 

‘ All Irishmen who love their country, and all candid Englishmen, ought to 
welcome Mr Justin H. McCarthy's little volume — An Outline of Irish History. ' 
Those who want to know how it has come about that, as John Stuart Mill long 
ago pointed out, all cries for the remedy of specific Irish grievances are now 
merged in the dangerous demand for nationality, will do well to read Mr. 
McCarthy s little book. It is eloquently written, and carries us from the earliest 
1 egends to the autumn of 1882, The charm of the style and the impetuousness 
in the fiow of the narrative are refreshing and stimulating, and, as regards his- 
toric impartiality, Mr.McCarthy is far more just than is Mr. Froude.'’— Graphic. 

“A brightly written and intelligent account of the leading events in Irish 
annals. , . . . Mr, McCarthy has performed a difficult task with commendable 
good spirit and impartiality.” — Whitehall Review 

‘To those who enjoy exceptionally brilliant and vigorous writing, as well 
as to those who desire to post themselves up in the Irish question, we cordially 
recommend Mr McCarthy s little book.’ -Evening News. 


ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 


Edited by JOHN MORLEY. 

Published in 12mo. vols., paper covers, price 10 cents each. 


Johnson. By Leslie Stephen. 

Scott. By R H Hutton. 

Gibbon. By J C. Morison. 

Shelley, ByJ A. Symonds. 

Hume. By Prof Huxley. P.R.S. 
Goldsmi’jh. By William Black. 
Defoe. ByW^Minto 
Burns. By Principal Shairp 
Spenser. By the Very Rev the Dean 
of St. Paul 8. 


Thackeray By A Trollope. 
Burke By John Money 
Bunyan By J A. Froude. 

Pope By Leslie Stephen. 

Byron By Processor Nichol, 
Co.wpER. By Goldwin Smith 
Locke. By Professor li'owler. 
Wordsworth By F W’^. H Myers. 
Milton By Mark Pattison 
Southey By Professor Dowden. 
Chaucer. By Prof. A. W . Ward. 


New York; JOHN W. LOVELL COITJIPANY. 


NOVELS BY 

THE DUCHESS, I 

All of which are now issued in Lovell’s Library, in 
handsome 12mo form, for 

20 

VIZ : 

Portia, or By Passions Booled, 

Phyllis, 

Molly Bawn, 

Airy Fairy Lillian, 

Mrs. Geoffrey, Etc., Etc. 


The works by Ihe Duchess have passed, and far passed, all 
competitors in the race for popularity and admirers. Editions 
after editions have rapidly succeeded each other, both in England 
and this Country, and it is an interesting fact (to the publishers) 
to know that the supply does not equal the demand. Select and 
read any one of the above, and you will not be happy till you have 
read them all. It would be of little use giving extracts from the 
thousands of eulogistic press criticisms. Your only plan is to 
buy one, and be convinced that the Novels by The Duchess are 
the most intensely interesting light reading written for many a 
' year. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postage paid 
on receipt of price, by the publishers. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street, 

New YoRit 




Detective Stories 

Exciting, Interesting, Clever and Able. 


MONSIEUR LECOQ, 

OTHER PEOPLES^ MONEY, 
THE LE ROUGE CASE, 

WITHIN AN INCH OF HIS LIFE, 

By EMILE GABORIAU. 

Large 12mo. eJitions, printed on good paper, from large type. 
Cloth, Gold and Black, $1.00. Paper Covers, 50c. 


Gaboriau’s books have been translated into every civilized lan- 
guage. Many thousands of copies of each book have been sold in 
America. The reader’s interest is not allowed to wane for a 
moment till the last page is reached. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publisliers, 

14 & IG Vesey St., New York. 


Oct "4 1945 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE, 


J85. Mysterious Island, Pt II. 15 
Mysterious Island.Ptlll.is 

186. Tom Brown at Oxford, 

s Parts, each 15 

187. Thicker than Water. . . .20 

188. In Silk Attire 20 

i8g. Scottish Chiefs, Part I.. 20 

Scottish Chiefs, Part 1 1. 20 

190. Willy Reilly 20 

191. The Nautz Family 20 

192. Great Expectations 20 

193. Hist.of Pendennis,Pt I..20 
Hist.of Pendennis,Pt II 20 

194. Widow Bedott Papers ..20 

195. Daniel Deronda,Part I.. 20 
Daniel Deronda, Part 1 1. 20 

196. AltioraPeto 20 

197. By the Gate of the Sea.. 15 

198. Tales of a Traveller 20 

199. Life and Voyages of Co- 

lumbus, 2 Parts, each. 20 

200. The Pilgrim’s Progress . . 20 

201. MartinChuzzlewit,P’rt 1.20 
MartinChuzzlewitjP’t II. 20 

202. Theophrastus Such 10 

203. Disarmed 15 

204. Eugene Aram 20 

205. The Spanish Gypsy, &c. 20 

206. Cast up by the Sea 20 

207. Mill on the Floss, Part 1. 15 
Mill on the Floss, P’t II. 15 

208. Brother Jacob, etc 10 

2og. The Executor 20 

2 10. American Notes 15 

211. The Newcomes, Part I.. 20 
The Newcomes, Part II. 20 

2f2. The Privateersman 20 

213. The Three Feathers 20 

214. Phantom Fortune 20 

215. The Red Eric 20 

2 16. Lady Silverdale’s Sweet- 

heart 10 

217. The Four Macnicol’s. ..10 

2 1 8. Mr. PisistratusBrown , M. P.io 

219. Dombeyand Son, Part I.20 
Dombey and Son, Part 1 1. 20 

220. Book of Snobs 

221. Fairy Tales, Illustrated. .20 

222. The Disowned 20 

223. Little Dorrit, Part 1 20 

Little Dorrit, Part II 20 

224. Abbotsford and New- 

stead Abbey 10 

225. Oliver Goldsmith, Black 10 

226. The Fire Brigade 20 

227. Rifle and Hound in Cey- 
lon 20 

228. Our Mutual Friend, P’t 1. 20 
OurMutualFriend, P’t 11.20 

229. Paris Sketches 15 

230. Belinda 20 

231. Nicholas Nickleby,P’t 1. 20 
NicholasNickleby,P’t 1 1. 20 

232. Monarch of Mincing 

Lane 20 

233. Eight Years’ Wanderings 

in Ceylon 20 

234. Pictures from Italy 15 

235. Adventures of Philip, Pt 1. 15 
Adventures of Philip, Pt 11.1$ 

236. Knickerbocker History 

of New York, Iff* ,.,,20 


237. The Boy at Mugby 

238. The Virginians, Part I.. 20 
The Virginians, Part 1 1. 20 

239. Erling the Bold 20 

240. Kenelm Chillingly. 20 

241. Deep Down 1 20 

242. Samuel Brohl & Co 20 

243. Gautran 20 

244. Bleak House, Part I .... 20 
Bleak House, Part II... 20 

245. What Will He Do With 

It? 2 Parts, each 20 

246. Sketches of Y oungCouples. 10 

247. Devereux 20 

248. Life of Webster, Part 1. 15 
Life of Webster, Pt. II. 15 

249. The Crayon Papers 20 

250. The Caxtons, Part I .... 15 
The Caxtons, Part II ... 15 

251. Autobiography of An- 

thony Trollope 20 

252. Critical Reviews, etc. ... 10 

253. Lucretia 20 

254. Peter the Whaler 20 

255. Last of the Barons. Pt 1. 15 
Last of the Barons, Pt.II. 15 

256. Eastern Sketches 15 

257. All in a Garden Fair . ... 20 

258. File No. 113 20 

259. The Parisians, Part I... 20 
The Parisians, Part 1 1 ..20 

260. Mrs. Darling’s Letters. ..20 

261. Master Humphrey’s 

Clock 10 

262. Fatal Boots, etc 10 

263. The Alhambra 15 

264. The Four Georges 10 

265. Plutarch’s Lives, 5 Pts. §1. 

266. Under the Red Flag. ... 10 

267. TheHaunted House, etc. 10 

268. When the Ship Comes 

Home 10 

269. One False, both Fair.... 20 

270. The Mudfog Papers, etc. 10 

271. My Novel, 3 Parts, each.20 

272. Conquest of Granada. ..20 

273. Sketches by Boz 20 

274. A Christmas Carol, etc.. 15 

275. lone Stewart 20 

276. Harold, 2 Parts, each... 15 

277. Dora Thorne 20 

278. Maid of Athens. 20 

279. Conquest of Spain 10 

280. Fitzboodle Papers, etc. . 10 

281. Bracebridge Hall 20 

282. Uncommercial Traveller.20 

283. Roundabout Papers 20 

284. Rossmoyne 20 

285. A Legend of the Rhine, 

etc * 10 

286. Cox’s Diary, etc 10 

287. Beyond Pardon 20 

288. Somebody’sLuggage,etc. 10 

289. Godolphin.. 20 

290. Salmagundi 20 

291. Famous Funny Fellows. 20 

292. Irish Sketches, etc 20 

293. The Battle of Life, etc... 10 

294. Pilgrims of the Rhine ... 1 5 

295. Random Shots 20 

296. Men’s Wives lo 

297. Mystery of Edwin Drood.20 


298. Reprinted Pieces 

299. Astoria 

300. Novels by Eminent Handsio 

301. Companions of Columbus2o 

302. No Thoroughfare 

303. Character Sketches, etc. 10 

304. Christmas Books.. 20 

305. A Tour on the Prairies... 10 

306. Ballads 15 

307. Yellowplush Papers 10 

308. Life of Mahomet, Part 1. 15 
Life of Mahomet, Pt. II. 15 

309. Sketches and Travels in 

London 10 

310. Oliver Goldsmith, Irving.20 

3 1 1. Captain Bonneville .... 20 

312. Golden Girls 20 

313. English Humorists 15 

314. Moorish Chronicles 10 

315. Winifred Power 20 

316. Great HoggartyDiamond lo 

317. Pausanias 15 

318. The New Abelard 20 

319. A Real Queen ...20 

320. The Rose and the Ring.20 

321. Wolfert’s Roost and Mis- 

cellanies, by Irving. • • • 10 

322. Mark Seaworth 20 

323. Life of Paul Jones 20 

324. Round the World 20 

325. Elbow Room 20 

326. The Wizard’s Son 25 

327. Harry Lorrequer ao 

328. How It All Came Round.20 

329. Dante Rosetti’s Poems. 20 

330. The Canon’s Ward 20 

331. Lucile, by O. Meredith. 20 

332. Every Day Cook Book.. 20 

333. Lays of Ancient Rome. . 20 

334. Life of Burns 20 

335- The Young Foresters... 20 

336. John Bull andHis Island 20 

337. Salt Water, by Kingston. 20 

338. The Midshipman 20 

339. Proctor’s Poems 20 

340. Clayton’s Rangers 20 

341. Schiller’s Poems *20 

342. Goethe’s Faust 20 

343. Goethe’s Poems 20 

344. Life of Thackeray 10 

345. Dante’s Vision of Hell, 
Purgatory and Paradise.. 20 

346. An Interesting Case.... 20 

347. Life of Byron, Nichol. ..10 

348. Life of Bunyan 

349. Valerie’s Fate. ......... lo 

3 so . Grandfather Lickshingle.20 

351. Lays of the Scottish Ca- 

valiers 20 

352. Willis’ Poems 20 

353. Tales of the French Re- 

volution 15 

354. Loom and Lugger...... 20 

355. More Leaves from a Life 

in the Highlands.... ..15 

356. Hygiene of the Brain. ..25 

357. Berkeley the Banker 20 

358. Homes Abroad 15 

359. Scott’s Lady of the Lake, 

with notes 20 

360. Modern Christianity a 
civilized Heathenism.. ..15 


SEAHJ AXm ITEEVE FOOD. 





Vitalized Phos-phites 

COMPOSED OF THE NERVE-GIVING PRINCIPLES OP 
THE OX-BRAIN AND WHEAT-GERM. 

It restores the energy lost by Nervousness or Indigestion; relieves 
Lassitude and Neuralgia; refreshes the nerves tired by worry, excite- 
ment, or excessive brain fatigue; strengthens a failing memory, and 
gives renewed vigor in all diseases of Nervous Exhaustion or Debility. 
It is the only PREVENTIVE FOR CONSUMPTION. 

It aids V)onderfvlly in the mental and hodily growth of infants and 
children. Under its use the teeth come easier, the hones grow better, the skin 
jlump&r and smoother; the h'ain acquires more readily, and rests and sleeps 
move sweetly. An ill-fed brain learns 710 lessons, and is excusable ^peevish. 
It gives a happier and better childhood. 

*‘It is with, the utmost confidence that I recommend this excellent pre- 
paration for the relief of indigestion and for general debility; nay, I do more 
than recommend, 1 really urge all invalids to put it to the test, for in sev- 
eral cases personally known to me signal benefits have been derived from 
its use. I have recently watched its effects on a young friend who has 
Buffered from indigestion all her life. After taking the Vitalized Phos- 
phites for a fortnight she said to me; * I feel another person; it is a pleas- 
ure to live.* Many hard-working men and women — especially those engaged 
in brain work — would be saved from the fatal resort to chloral and other 
destructive stimulants, if they would have recourse to a remedy so simple 
and so efficacious.** 

Emily Fatthfoll. 

Physicians have prescribed over 600,000 Packages because they 

KNOW ITS Composition, that it is not a secret remedy, and 
that the formula is printed on every T.A-RltL 

For Sale bx DmsTSlBts or bx Hf all, 4|x. 

F. CROSBY CO., 56 West 25th Street. 












« 


1 




* ^ k I 


i 

1/ 





1 A M 






^.1 •* 








' . 1 .. 


iM' 


■‘V 









ivV- , . , 


lr «; 



r ' ' 


Y. 






'• : ?v 

i ! / » fT - , • i . ’ 


f 


• A 


•; ■ -: 


* ■ '.1 


f 'V 


► I > 


\ ' 


‘ r i? V 

f ' < tiw '** ^ 










\ I 


,* U' ' 

' * ' • i > ^ 



^^4 


I’iW. 


TU-j> i, 

■■“ %A-* ' 


i •. 


r * 


i ' 


iri 


ji " 


■'• f. 


:» ^ 


>»•:' 


• *» 




I 




,» ■ ' ' 


ivi c> V , 

iLt'i 


r ..I 


•7 


u 


. 'j 

' ' '. A ^*" 


'M • 


\ ■• 


• f <- V 






f 


I. at; 






■:y 


t ^ 


f ' • 


» »• 


v 




'. 1 


'i 


V '• 


■). 


Ji.*': iL 


.'J 


\ I 




’. i 


• V*v ‘ ■* 


».,*• 




♦ v« 


» 


n .>• 


K A- 


» I 


'■ '■ V4' > ■ .' ',■ 

' ' ^ vjX, , ■' 

'■ '•‘5l> <' ■• 'V 'll ''[^ *.' ^ 

'•■'A f - V ''- v - i ''■ V : 

■ _ .r -.j'^jAr-r"-' 




>yv<5.' 


V . 








• •’ 


. } .' , mmi 

A i' '.' 

■ *.. r /. ’ '. f 




r ‘ I' 


l ^| r \ 


• ’ •» : ■ ' i . • V ' \’'i 

-* * ■ ' I & \,' ■' ' f \* k ' '’A 

>*»•,.' * > . - - kT ' . 4 • V I 

// Ai •. ' ‘-; ■•' • . '%i 

'•Jfll,V • 




>«f 


rV' i 


■tv 




< ** 




fm 


i % 






If 




v>. 




•• • 


ILA 1 '■ wV ,-. v -- Lr^;j 


p •■ 


1^/. 




w 


-* J .' ■j • T - U '- 'l ’ ' O ’ ' 

V-'.' f 


TSj 




11 . > +, 




*' 1 * % *CTB 

j •• 

‘ . .» ■ ^' V ''' V ^' ' 


V ' i ii , » 


*. A 


« 

t/ 


L ^ T « *% J 


A,. 


i^. 


ri 


i)> 




4 


■A' 


ty 


ll>- 




|J_ 




4 


< 




> 


4 . •' ' 


v;jL,^.’'.,fvr;n.'‘r-'i; 









